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AMONG THE 

m 


V 


CAMPS 


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BY THOMAS NELSON PAGE, 


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AMONG THE CAMPS 


OR 


YOUNG PEOPLE’S STORIES OF THE IVAR 


BY 

THOMAS NELSON PAGE 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 


?-z-1 

a 




Copyright, 1891, by 

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 

\Q <P 


• • • • • « • 


C f> «• • 

• • • V 
• » » • 


THE CAXTON PRESS 
NEW YORK. 


* 


So &ev: 

























NOTE. 


My acknowledgments are due to Messrs. Harper £r Brothers 
and to Mr. A. B. Starey, the Publishers and the Editor of 
HARPERS’ YOUNG PEOPLE, in which Magazine I had the 
pleasure of having these stories, with the accompanying illus- 
trations, first appear . 


T. N. P, 




CONTENTS. 

A Captured Santa Claus Page / 

Kittykin, and the Part She Played in the War . “ 41 

“Nancy Pansy” " 65 

“Jack and Jake” " 7/5 







































LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 


“Halt!” Bang , bang, went the Guns in His very Face . Frontispiece 
Colonel Stafford opens the Bundle Page u 

“What You Children gwine do wid dat little Cat?" asked 

Mammy, severely " 40 

“ I Want My Kitty kin," said Evelyn “54 

Nancy Pansy clasped Harry closely to Her Bosom ... “77 

She ran up to Him, putting up Her Face to be Kissed . “ 91 

He drew Them Plans of the Roads and Hills and big 

Woods . " 123 

Jack made a running Noose in the Rope and tried to throw 

it over the Horse's Head “ 1 39 




A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


i. 

H OLLY HILL was the place for Christmas ! From Bob 
down to brown-eyed Evelyn, with her golden hair 
floating all around her, every one hung up a stocking, 
and the visit of Santa Claus was the event of the year. 

They went to sleep on the night before Christmas — or 
rather they went to bed, for sleep was long far from their eyes, 
— with little squeakings and gurglings, like so many little white 
mice, and if Santa Claus had not always been so very punc- 
tual in disappearing up the chimney before daybreak, he must 
certainly have been caught ; for by the time the chickens were 
crowing in the morning there would be an answering twitter 
through the house, and with a patter of little feet and sub- 
dued laughter small white-clad figures would steal through 
the dim light of dusky rooms and passages, opening doors 
with sudden bursts, and shouting “ Christmas gift ! ” into 
darkened chambers, at still sleeping elders, then scurrying 
away in the gray light to rake open the hickory embers and 
revel in the exploration of their crowded stockings. 


2 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS . 


Such was Christmas morning at Holly Hill in the old 
times before the war. Thus it was, that at Christmas 1863, 
when there were no new toys to be had for love or money, 
there were much disappointment and some murmurs at Holly 
Hill. The children had never really felt the war until then, 
though their father, Major Stafford, had been off, first with 
his company and then with his regiment, since April, 1861. 
Now from Mrs. Stafford down to little tot Evelyn, there was 
an absence of the merriment which Christmas always brought 
with it. Their mother had done all she could to collect such 
presents as were within her reach, but the youngsters were 
much too sharp not to know that the presents were “just 
fixed up ” ; and when they were all gathered around the fire 
in their mother’s chamber, Christmas morning, looking over 
their presents, their little faces wore an expression of pathetic 
disappointment. 

“ I don’t think much of this Christmas,” announced Ran, 
with characteristic gravity, looking down on his presents with 
an air of contempt. “ A hatchet, a ball of string, and a hare- 
trap isn’t much.” 

Mrs. Stafford smiled, but the smile soon died away into 
an expression of sadness. 

“ I too have to do without my Christmas gift,” she said. 
“Your father wrote me that he hoped to spend Christmas 
with us, and he has not come.” 

“Never mind; he may come yet,” said Bob encourag- 
ingly. (Bob always was encouraging. That was why he was 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


3 


“Old Bob.”) “An axe was just the thing I wanted, mamma,” 
said he, shouldering his new possession proudly. 

Mrs. Stafford’s face lit up again. 

“ And a hatchet was what I wanted,” admitted Ran ; 
“now I can make my own hare-traps.” 

“ An’ I like a broked knife,” asserted Charlie stoutly, fall- 
ing valiantly into the general movement, whilst Evelyn pushed 
her long hair out of her eyes, and hugged her baby, declar- 
ing: 

“ I love my dolly, and I love Santa Tlaus, an’ I love my 
papa,” at which her mother took the little midget to her 
bosom, doll and all, and hid her face in her tangled curls. 


II. 


T HE holiday was scarcely over when one evening Major 
Stafford galloped up to the gate, his black horse Ajax 
splashed with mud to his ear- tips. 

The Major soon heard all about the little ones’ disappoint- 
ment at not receiving any new presents. 

“ Santa Tlaus didn’ turn this Trismas, but he’s tummin’ 
next Trismas,” said Evelyn, looking wisely up at him, that 
evening, from the rug where she was vainly trying to make 
her doll’s head stick on her broken shoulders. 

“ And why did he not come this Christmas, Miss Wis- 
dom ? ” laughed her father, touching her with the toe of his 
boot. 

“Tause the Yankees wouldn’ let him,” said she gravely, 
holding her doll up and looking at it pensively, her head on 
one side. 

“ And why, then, should he come next year?” 

“Tause God’s goin’ to make him.” She turned the 
mutilated baby around and examined it gravely, with her shin- 
ing head set on the other side. 

“ There’s faith for you,” said Mrs. Stafford, as her hus- 
band asked, “ How do you know this ? v 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


5 


“Tause God told me,” answered Evelyn, still busy with 
her inspection. 

“ He did ? What is Santa Claus going to bring you ? ” 

The little mite sprang to her feet. “ He’s goin’ to bring 
me — a — great — big — dolly — with real sure ’nough hair, and 
blue eyes that will go to sleep.” Her face was aglow, and 
she stretched her hands wide apart to give the size. 

“ She has dreamt it,” said the Major, in an undertone, to 
her mother. “ There is not such a doll as that in the South- 
ern Confederacy,” he continued. 

The child caught his meaning. “Yes, he is,” she insisted, 
“ ’cause I asked him an’ he said he would ; and Charlie ” 

Just then that youngster himself burst into the room, a 
small whirlwind in petticoats. As soon as his cyclonic ten- 
dencies could be curbed, his father asked him : 

“Well, what did you ask Santa Claus for, young man ?” 

“For a pair of breeches and a sword,” answered the boy, 
promptly, striking an attitude. 

“Well, upon my word!” laughed his father, eying the 
erect little figure and the steady, clear eyes which looked 
proudly up at him. “ I had no idea what a young Achilles 
we had here. You shall have them.” 

The boy nodded gravely. “ All right. When I get to 
be a man I won’t let anybody make my mamma cry.” He 
advanced a step, with head up, the very picture of spirit. 

“Ah! you won’t?” said his father, with a gesture to 
prevent his wife interrupting. 


6 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


“ Nor my little sister,” said the young warrior, patron 
izingly, swelling with infantile importance. 

‘ No ; he won’t let anybody make me ky,” chimed in 
Evelyn, promptly accepting the proffered protection. 

“ On my word, Ellen, the fellow has some of the old blood 
in him,” said Major Stafford, much pleased. “ Come here, 
my young knight.” He drew the boy up to him. “ I had 
rather have heard you say that than have won a brigadier’s 
wreath. You shall have your breeches and your sword next 
Christmas. Were I the king I should give you your spurs. 
Remember, never let any one make your mother or sister 
cry.” 

Charlie nodded in token of his acceptance of the condi- 
tion. 

“All right,” he said. 


III. 


W HEN Major Stafford galloped away, on his return 
to his command, the little group at the lawn gate 
shouted many messages after him. The last thing he 
heard was Charlie’s treble, as he seated himself on the gate- 
post, calling to him not to forget to make Santa Claus bring 
him a pair of breeches and a sword, and Evelyn’s little voice 
reminding him of her “ dolly that can go to sleep.” 

Many times during the ensuing year, amid the hardships 
of the campaign, the privations of the march, and the dangers 
of battle, the Major heard those little voices calling to him. 
In the autumn he won the three stars of a colonel for gal- 
lantry in leading a desperate charge on a town, in a perilous 
raid into the heart of the enemy’s country, and holding the 
place ; but none knew, when he dashed into the town at the 
head of his regiment under a hail of bullets, that his mind 
was full of toyshops and clothing stores, and that when he 
was so stoutly holding his position he was guarding a little 
boy’s suit, a small sword with a gilded scabbard, and a large 
doll with flowing ringlets and eyes that could “ go to sleep.” 
Some of his friends during that year had charged the Major 
with growing miserly, and rallied him upon hoarding up his 


8 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


pay and carrying large rolls of Confederate money about his 
person ; and when, just before the raid, he invested his entire 
years pay in four or five ten-dollar gold pieces, they vowed 
he was mad. 

The Major, however, always met these charges with a 
smile. And as soon as his position was assured in the cap- 
tured town he proved his sanity. 

The owner of a handsome store on the principal street, 
over which was a large sign, “ Men’s and Boys’ Clothes,” 
peeping out, saw a Confederate major ride up to the door, 
which had been hastily fastened when the fight began, and 
rap on it with the handle of his sword. There was something 
in the rap that was imperative, and fearing violence if he 
failed to respond, he hastily opened the door. The officer 
entered, and quickly selected a little uniform suit of blue 
cloth with brass buttons. 

“ What is the price of this?” 

“Ten dollars,” stammered the shopkeeper. 

To his astonishment the Confederate officer put his hand in 
his pocket and laid a ten-dollar gold piece on the counter. 

“ Now show me where there is a toyshop.” 

There was one only a few doors off, and there the Major 
selected a child’s sword handsomely ornamented, and the 
most beautiful doll, over whose eyes stole the whitest of rose- 
leaf eyelids, and which could talk and do other wonderful 
things. He astonished this shopkeeper also by laying down 
another gold piece. This left him but two or three more of 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


9 


the proceeds of his year’s pay, and these he soon handed over 
a counter to a jeweller, who gave him a small package in 
exchange. 

All during the remainder of the campaign Colonel Stafford 
carried a package carefully sealed, and strapped on behind 
his saddle. His care of it and his secrecy about it were 
the subjects of many jests among his friends in the brigade, 
and when in an engagement his horse was shot, and the Col- 
onel, under a hot fire, stopped and calmly unbuckled his bun- 
dle, and during the rest of the fight carried it in his hand, 
there was a clamor that he should disclose the contents. 
Even an offer to sing them a song would not appease them. 

The brigade officers were gathered around a camp-fire that 
night on the edge of the bloody field. A Federal officer, 
Colonel Denby, who had been slightly wounded and captured 
in the fight, and who now sat somewhat grim and moody 
before the fire, was their guest. 

“ Now, Stafford, open the bundle and let us into the 
secret,” they all said. The Colonel, without a word, rose and 
brought the parcel up to the fire. Kneeling down, he took 
out his knife and carefully ripped open the outer cover. 
Many a jest was levelled at him across the blazing logs as he 
did so. 

One said the Colonel had turned peddler, and was trying 
to eke out a living by running the blockade on Lilliputian 
principles ; another wagered that he had it full of Confeder- 
ate bills ; a third, that it was a talisman against bullets, and 


1 o 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


so on. Within the outer covering were several others ; but 
at length the last was reached. As the Colonel ripped care- 
fully, the group gathered around and bent breathlessly over 
him, the light from the blazing camp-fire shining ruddily on 
their eager, weather-tanned faces. When the Colonel put in 
his hand and drew out a toy sword, there was a general ex- 
clamation, followed by a dead silence ; but when he took the 
doll from her soft wrapping, and then unrolled and held up 
a pair of little trousers not much longer than a man’s hand, 
and just the size for a five-year-old boy, the men turned away 
their faces from the fire, and more than one who had boys of 
his own at home, put his hand up to his eyes. 

One of them, a bronzed and weather-beaten officer, who 
had charged the Colonel with being a miser, stretched him- 
self out on the ground, flat on his face, and sobbed aloud as 
Colonel Stafford gently told his story of Charlie and Evelyn. 
Even the grim face of Colonel Denby looked somewhat 
changed in the light of the fire, and he reached over for the 
doll and gazed at it steadily for some time. 


COLONEL STAFFORD OPENS THE BUNDLE. 



-+ 
















































































































. 















































































IV. 


D URING the whole year the children had been looking 
forward to the coming of Christmas. Charlie’s out- 
bursts of petulance and not rare fits of anger were 
invariably checked if any mention was made of his father’s 
injunction, and at length he became accustomed to curb him- 
self by the recollection of the charge he had received. If he 
fell and hurt himself in his constant attempt to climb up im- 
possible places, he would simply rub himself and say, proudly, 
“ I don’t cry now, I am a knight, and next Christmas I am 
going to be a man, ’cause my papa’s goin’ to tell Santa Claus 
to bring me a pair of breeches and a sword.” Evelyn could 
not help crying when she was hurt, for she was only a little 
girl ; but she added to her prayer of “ God bless and keep my 
papa, and bring him safe home,” the petition, “ Please, God, 
bless and keep Santa Tlaus, and let him come here Trismas.” 

Old Bob and Ran too, as well as the younger ones, 
looked forward eagerly to Christmas. 

But some time before Christmas the steady advance of 
the Union armies brought Holly Hill and the Holly Hill 
children far within the Federal lines, and shut out all chance 
of their being reached by any message or thing from their 


14 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


father. The only Confederates the children ever saw now 
were the prisoners who were being passed back on their way 
to prison. The only news they ever received were the 
rumors which reached them from Federal sources. Mrs. Staf-* 
ford’s heart was heavy within her, and when, a day or two 
before Christmas, she heard Charlie and Evelyn, as they sat 
before the fire, gravely talking to each other of the long- 
expected presents which their father had promised that Santa 
Claus should bring them, she could stand it no longer. She 
took Bob and Ran into her room, and there told them that now 
it was impossible foifctheir father to come, and that they must 
help her entertain “ the children ” and console them for their 
disappointment. The two boys responded heartily, as true 
boys always will when thrown on their manliness. 

For the next two days Mrs. Stafford and both the boys 
were busy. Mrs. Stafford, when Charlie was not present, 
gave her time to cutting out and making a little gray uni- 
form suit from an old coat which her husband had worn 
when he first entered the army; whilst the boys employed 
themselves, Bob in making a pretty little sword and scabbard 
out of an old piece of gutter, and Ran,®who had a wonderful 
turn, in carving a doll from a piece of hard seasoned wood. 

The day before Christmas they lost a little time in follow- 
ing and pitying a small lot of prisoners who passed along 
the road by the gate. The boys were always pitying the 
prisoners and planning means to rescue them, for they had an 
idea that they suffered a terrible fate. Only one certain case 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


i5 


had come to their knowledge. A young man had one day 
been carried by the Holly Hill gate on his way to the head- 
quarters of the officer in command of that portion of the 
lines, General Denby. He was in citizen’s clothes and was 
charged with being a spy. The next morning Ran, who had 
risen early to visit his hare-traps, rushed into his mothers 
room white-faced and wide-eyed. 

“ Oh, mamma ! ” he gasped, “ they have hung him, just 
because he had on those clothes ! ” 

Mrs. Stafford, though she was much moved herself, 
endeavored to explain to the boy that this was one of the 
laws of war ; but Ran’s mind was not able to comprehend 
the principles which imposed so cruel a sentence for what 
he deemed so harmless a fault. 

This act and some other measures of severity gave Gen- 
eral Denby a reputation of much harshness among the few 
old residents who yet remained at their homes in the lines, 
and the children used to gaze at him furtively as he would 
ride by, grim and stern, followed by his staff. Yet there 
were those who said that General Denby’s rigor was simply 
the result of a high standard of duty, and that at bottom he 
had a soft heart. 


V. 


T HE approach of Christmas was recognized even in the 
Federal camps, and many a song and ringing laugh 
were heard around the camp-fires, and in the tents 
and little cabins used as winter quarters, over the boxes 
which were pouring in from home. The troops in the camps 
near General Denby’s headquarters on Christmas eve had 
been larking and frolicking all day like so many children, 
preparing for the festivities of the evening, when they pro- 
posed to have a Christmas tree and other entertainments ; 
and the General, as he sat in the front room in the house 
used as his headquarters, writing official papers, had more 
than once during the afternoon frowned at the noise outside 
which had disturbed him. At length, however, late in the 
afternoon, he finished his work, and having dismissed his 
adjutant, he locked the door, and pushing aside all his 
business papers, took from his pocket a little letter and began 
to read. 

As he read, the stern lines of the grim soldiers jace 
relaxed, and more than once a smile stole into his eyes and 
stirred the corners of his grizzled moustache. 

The letter was scrawled in a large childish hand. It 
ran : 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


17 


* My Dearest Grandpapa : I want to see you very much. I send 
you a Christmas gift. I made it myself. I hope to get a whole lot of dolls 

and other presents. I love you. I send you all these kisses 

. . . . . . . You must kiss them. 

“Your loving little granddaughter, 

“ Lily.” 

When he had finished reading the letter the old veteran 
gravely lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss on each of the 
little spaces so carefully drawn by the childish hand. 

When he had done he took out his handkerchief and 
blew his nose violently as he walked up and down the room. 
He even muttered something about the fire smoking. Then 
he sat down once more at his table, and placing the little 
letter before him, began to write. As he wrote, the fire 
smoked more than ever, and the sounds of revelry outside 
reached him in a perfect uproar ; but he no longer frowned, 
and when the strains of “ Dixie ” came in at the window, 
sung in a clear, rich, mellow solo, he sat back in his chair 
and listened: 

“ I wish I were in Dixie, away, away ; 

In Dixie’s land I’ll take my stand, 

To live and die for Dixie land, 

Away, away, away down South in Dixie ! 99 

sang the beautiful voice, full and sonorous. 

When the song ended, there was an outburst of applause, 
and shouts apparently demanding some other song, which was 
refused, for the noise grew to a tumult. The General rose 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS . 


iS 


and walked to the window. Suddenly the uproar hushed, 
for the voice began again, but this time it was a hymn : 

“ While shepherds watched their flocks by night, 

All seated on the ground, 

The angel of the Lord came down, 

And glory shone around.” 

Verse after verse was sung, the men pouring out of their 
tents and huts to listen to the music. 

“All glory be to God on high, 

And to the earth be peace ; 

Good will henceforth from Heaven to men 
Begin and never cease ! ” 

sang the singer to the end. When the strain died away 
there was dead silence. 

The General finished his letter and sealed it. Carefully 
folding up the little one which lay before him, he replaced it 
in his pocket, and going to the door, summoned the orderly 
who was just without. 

"Mail that at once,” he said. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ By the way,” as the soldier turned to leave, "who was 
that singing out there just now? I mean that last one, who 
sang ‘ Dixie/ and the hymn.” 

“ Only a peddler, sir, I believe.” 

The General’s eyes fixed themselves on the soldier, 
"Where did he come from ?” 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


19 


“ I don’t know, sir. Some of the boys had him singing.” 
“Tell Major Dayle to come here immediately,” said the 
General, frowning. 

In a moment the officer summoned entered. 

He appeared somewhat embarrassed. 

“ Who was this peddler ? ” asked the commander, sternly. 
“ I — I don’t know — ” began the other. 

“You don’t know ! Where did he come from ?” 

“ From Colonel Watchly’s camp directly,” said he, 
relieved to shift a part of the responsibility. 

“ How was he dressed?” 

“ In citizen’s clothes.” 

“What did he have?” 

“ A few toys and trinkets.” 

“What was his name?” 

“ I did not hear it.” 

“ And you let him go ! ” The General stamped his foot. 
“Yes, sir ; I don’t think — ” he began. 

“No, I know you don’t,” said the General. “He was a 
spy. Where has he gone ? ” 

“ I — I don’t know. He cannot have gone far.” 

“ Report yourself under arrest,” said the commander, 
sternly. 

Walking to the door, he said to the sentinel : 

“ Call the corporal, and tell him to request Captain 
Albert to come here immediately.” 

In a few hours the party sent out reported that they had 


20 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS . 


traced the spy to a place just over the creek, where he was 
believed to be harbored. 

“ Take a detail and arrest him, or burn the house,” or- 
dered the General, angrily. “ It is a perfect nest of treason,” 
he said to himself as he walked up and down, as though in 
justification of his savage order. 

“ Or wait,” he called to the captain, who was just withdraw- 
ing. “ I will go there myself, and take it for my headquarters. 
It is a better place than this. I cannot stand this smoke any 
longer. That will break up their treasonable work.” 


VI. 


A LL that day the tongues of the little ones at Holly Hill 
had been chattering unceasingly of the expected visit 
of Santa Claus that night. Mrs. Stafford had tried to 
explain to Charlie and Evelyn that it would be impossible for 
him to bring them their presents this year ; but she was met 
with the undeniable and unanswerable statement that their 
father had promised them. Before going to bed they had 
hung their stockings on the mantelpiece right in front of the 
chimney, so that Santa Claus would be sure to see them. 

The mother had broken down over Evelyn’s prayer, “ not 
to forget my papa, and not to forget my dolly,” and her tears 
fell silently after the little ones were asleep, as she put 
the finishing touches to the tiny gray uniform for Charlie. 
She was thinking not only of the children’s disappointment, 
but of the absence of him on whose promise they had so 
securely relied. He had been away now for a year, and 
she had had no word of him for many weeks. Where 
was he ? Was he dead or alive ? Mrs. Stafford sank on 
her knees by the bedside. 

“ O God, give me faith like this little child ! ” she prayed 
again and again. She was startled by hearing a step on the 
front portico and a knock at the door. Bob, who was work- 


22 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLA US. 


ing in front of the hall fire, went to the door. His mother 
heard him answer doubtfully some question. She opened 
the door and went out. A stranger with a large bundle or 
pack stood on the threshold. His hat, which was still on 
his head, was pulled down over his eyes, and he wore a 
beard. 

“ An’, leddy, wad ye bay so koind as to shelter a poor 
sthranger for a noight at this blissid toim of pace and good- 
will ? ” he said, in a strong Irish brogue. 

“ Certainly,” said Mrs. Stafford with her eyes fixed on 
him. She moved slowly up to him. Then, by an instinct, 
quickly lifting her hand, she pushed his hat back from his 
eyes. Her husband clasped her in his arms. 

“ My darling ! ” 

When the pack was opened, such a treasure-house of toys 
and things was displayed as surely never greeted any other 
eyes. The smaller children, including Ran, were not awaked, 
at their father’s request, though Mrs. Stafford wished to wake 
them to see him ; but Bob was let into the secrets, except 
that he was not permitted to see a small package which 
bore his name. Mrs. Stafford and the Colonel were like two 
children themselves as they “tipped” about stuffing the long 
stockings with candy and toys of all kinds. The beautiful 
doll with flaxen hair, all arrayed in silk and lace, was seated, 
last of all, securely on top of Evelyn’s stocking, with her ward- 
robe just below her, where she would greet her young mistress 
when she should first open her eyes, and Charlie’s little blue 


A CAPTURED SAA 7 TA CLAUS. 


23 


uniform was pinned beside the gray one his mother had made, 
with his sword buckled around the waist. 

Bob was at last dismissed to his room, and the Colonel 
and Mrs. Stafford settled themselves before the fire, hand in 
hand, to talk over all the past. They had hardly started, 
when Bob rushed down the stairs and dashed into their 
room. 

“ Papa ! papa ! the yard’s full of Yankees ! ” 

Both the Colonel and Mrs. Stafford sprang to their feet. 

“ Through the back door ! ” cried Mrs. Stafford, seizing 
her husband. 

“ He cannot get out that way — they are everywhere ; I 
saw them from my window,” gasped Bob, just as the sound 
of trampling without became audible. 

“Oh! what will you do? Those clothes ! If they catch 
you in those clothes ! ” began Mrs. Stafford, and then stopped, 
her face growing ashy pale. Bob also turned even whiter 
than he had been before. He remembered the young man 
who was found in citizen’s clothes in the autumn, and knew 
his dreadful fate. He burst out crying. “Oh, papa! will 
they hang you ? ” he sobbed. 

“ I hope not, my son,” said the Colonel, gravely. “ Cer- 
tainly not, if I can prevent it.” A gleam of amusement stole 
into his eyes. “ It’s an awkward fix, certainly,” he added. 

“You must conceal yourself,” cried Mrs. Stafford, as a 
number of footsteps sounded on the porch, and a thundering 
knock shook the door. “ Come here.” She pulled him 


24 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


almost by main force into a closet or entry, and locked the 
door, just as the knocking was renewed. As the door was 
apparently about to be broken down, she went out into the 
hall. Her face was deadly white, and her lips were moving 
in prayer. 

“Who’s there?” she called, tremblingly, trying to gain 
time. 

“ Open the door immediately, or it will be broken down,” 
replied a stern voice. 

She turned the great iron key in the heavy old brass lock, 
and a dozen, men rushed into the hall. They all waited for 
one, a tall elderly man in a general’s fatigue uniform, and 
with a stern face and a grizzled beard. He addressed her. 

“ Madam, I have come to take possession of this house as 
my headquarters.” 

Mrs. Stafford bowed, unable to speak. She was sensible 
of a feeling of relief ; there was a gleam of hope. If they did 
not know of her husband’s presence — But the next word 
destroyed it. 

“We have not interfered with you up to the present time, 
but you have been harboring a spy here, and he is here 
now.” 

“ There is no spy here, and has never been,” said Mrs. 
Stafford, with dignity ; “ but if there were, you should not 
know it from me.” She spoke with much spirit. “ It is not 
the custom of our people to deliver up those who have sought 
their protection.” 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


25 


The officer removed his hat. His keen eye was fixed on 
her white face. “ We shall search the premises,” he said 
sternly, but more respectfully than he had yet spoken. 
“ Major, have the house thoroughly searched.” 

The men went striding off, opening doors and looking 
through the rooms. The General took a turn up and down 
the hall. He walked up to a door. 

“ That is my chamber,” said Mrs. Stafford, quickly. 

The officer fell back. “ It must be searched,” he said. 

“ My little children are asleep in there,” said Mrs. Staf- 
ford, her face quite white. 

“It must be searched,” repeated the General. “Either 
they must do it, or I. You can take your choice.” 

Mrs. Stafford made a gesture of assent. He opened the 
door and stepped across the threshold. There he stopped. 
His eye took in the scene. Charlie was lying in the little 
trundle-bed in the corner, calm and peaceful, and by his side 
was Evelyn, her little face looking like a flower lying in the 
tangle of golden hair which fell over her pillow. The noise 
disturbed her slightly, for she smiled suddenly, and muttered 
something about <l Santa Tlaus” and a “ dolly.” The officer’s 
gaze swept the room, and fell on the overcrowded stockings 
hanging from the mantel. He advanced to the fireplace and 
examined the doll and trousers closely. With a curious ex- 
pression on his face, he turned and walked out of the room, 
closing the door softly behind him. 

“ Major,” he said to the officer in charge of the searching 


26 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


party, who descended the steps just then, “ take the men back 
to camp, except the sentinels. There is no spy here.” In a 
moment Mrs. Stafford came out of her chamber. The old 
officer was walking up and down in deep thought. Suddenly 
he turned to her : “ Madam, be so kind as to go and tell Col- 
onel Stafford that General Denby desires him to surrender 
himself.” Mrs. Stafford was struck dumb. She was unable 
to move or to articulate. “ I shall wait for him,” said the 
General, quietly, throwing himself into an arm-chair, and 
looking steadily into the fire. 


VII. 


A S his father concealed himself, Bob had left the cham- 
ber. He was in a perfect agony of mind. He knew 
that his father could not escape, and if he were found 
dressed in citizen’s clothes he felt that he could have but one 
fate. All sorts of schemes entered his boy’s head to save 
him. Suddenly he thought of the small group of prisoners 
he had seen pass by about dark. He would save him ! Put- 
ting on his hat, he opened the front door and walked out. 
A sentinel accosted him surlily to know where he was going. 
Bob invited him in to get warm, and soon had him engaged 
in conversation. 

“ What do you do with your prisoners when you catch 
them ? ” inquired Bob. 

“Send some on to prison — and hang some.” 

“ I mean when you first catch them.” 

“ Oh, they stay in camp. We don’t treat ’em bad, with- 
out they be spies. There’s a batch at camp now, got in this 
evening-^-sort o’ Christmas gift.” The soldier laughed as 
he stamped his feet to keep warm. 

“Where’s your camp ? ” Bob asked. 

“ About a mile from here, right on the road, or rather 
right on the hill at the edge of the pines ’yond the crick.” 


28 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


The boy left his companion, and sauntered in and out 
among the other men in the yard. Presently he moved on 
to the edge of the lawn beyond them. No one took further 
notice of him. In a second he had slipped through the gate, 
and was flying across the field. He knew every foot of 
ground as well as a hare, for he had been hunting and setting 
traps over it since he was as big as little Charlie. He had 
to make a detour at the creek to avoid the picket, and the 
dense briers were very bad and painful. However, he worked 
his way through, though his face was severely scratched. 
Into the creek he plunged. “ Outch ! ” He had stepped 
into a hole, and the water was as cold as ice. However, he 
was through, and at the top of the hill he could see the glow 
of the camp fires lighting up the sky. 

He crept cautiously up, and saw the dark forms of the 
sentinels pacing backward and forward wrapped in their over- 
coats, now lit up by the fire, then growing black against its 
blazing embers, then lit up again, and passing away into the 
shadow. How could he ever get by them? His heart 
began to beat and his teeth to chatter, but he walked boldly 
up. 

“Halt! who goes there ?” cried the sentry, bringing his 
gun down and advancing on him. 

Bob kept on, and the sentinel, finding that it was only a 
boy, looked rather sheepish. 

“Don’t let him capture you, Jim,” called one of them; 
“ Call the Corporal of the Guard,” another ; “ Order up the 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS . 


29 


reserves,” a third ; and so on. Bob had to undergo some- 
thing of an examination. 

“ I know the little Johnny,” said one of them. 

They made him draw up to the fire, and made quite a fuss 
over him. Bob had his wits about him and soon learned that 
a batch of prisoners were at a fire a hundred yards further 
back. He therefore worked his way over there, although he 
was advised to stay where he was and get dry, and had many 
offers of a bunk from his new friends, some of whom followed 
him over to where the prisoners were. 

Most of them were quartered for the night in a hut before 
which a guard was stationed. One or two, however, sat 
around the gamp-fire, chatting with their guards. Among 
them was a major in full uniform. Bob singled him out ; he 
was just about his father’s size. 

He was instantly the centre of attraction. Again he told 
them he was from Holly Hill ; again he was recognized by 
one of the men. 

“ Run away to join the army?” asked one. 

“ No,” said Bob, his eyes flashing at the suggestion. 

“ Lost ? ” 

“ No.” 

* u Mother whipped you ?” 

“ No.” 

As soon as their curiosity had somewhat subsided, Bob, 
who had hardly been able to contain himself, said to the 
Confederate major in a low undertone : 


3 ° 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


“ My father, Colonel Stafford, is at home, concealed, and 
the Yankees have taken possession of the house/’ 

“Well?” said the major, looking down at him as if 
casually. 

“ He cannot escape, and he has on citizen’s clothes, 
and — ” Bob’s voice choked suddenly as he gazed at the 
major’s uniform. 

“Well ? ” The prisoner for a second looked sharply down 
at the boy’s earnest face. Then he put his hand under his 
chin, and lifting it, looked into his eyes. Bob shivered and 
a sob escaped him. 

The major placed his hand firmly on his knee. “ Why, 
you are wringing wet,” he said, aloud. “ I wonder you are 
not frozen to death.” He rose and stripped off his coat. 
“ Here, get into this and before the boy knew it the major 
had bundled him into his coat, and rolled up the sleeves so 
that Bob could use his hands. The action attracted the 
attention of the rest of the group, and several of the Yankees 
offered to take the boy and give him dry clothes. 

“ No, sir,” laughed the major; “this boy is a rebel. Do 
you think he will wear one of your Yankee suits? He’s a 
little major, and I’m going to give him a major’s uniform.” 

In a minute he had stripped off his trousers, and was 
helping Bob into them, standing himself in his underclothes 
in the icy air. The legs were three times too long for the 
boy, and the waist came up to his armpits. 

“ Now go home to your mother,” said the major, laughing 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


3 * 


at his appearance ; “ and some of you fellows get me some 
clothes or a blanket. I’ll wear your Yankee uniform out of 
sheer necessity.” 

Bob trotted around, keeping as far away from the light 
of the camp-fires as possible. He soon found himself unob- 
served, and reached the shadow of a line of huts, and keeping 
well in it, he came to the edge of the camp. He watched his 
opportunity, and when the sentry’s back was turned slipped 
out into the darkness. In an instant he was flying down the 
hill. The heavy clothes impeded him, and he stopped only 
long enough to snatch them off and roll them into a bundle, 
and sped on his way again. He struck the main road, and 
was running down the hill as fast as his legs could carry him, 
when he suddenly found himself almost on a group of dark 
objects who were standing in the road just in front of him. 
One of them moved. It was the picket. Bob suddenly 
stopped. His heart was in his throat. 

“ Who goes there ?’* said a stern voice. Bob’s heart beat 
as if it would spring out of his body. 

“ Come in ; we have you,” said the man, advancing. 

Bob sprang across the ditch beside the road, and putting 
his hand on the top rail of the fence, flung himself over it, 
bundle and all, flat on the other side, just as a blaze of light 
burst from the picket, and the report of a carbine startled the 
silent night. The bullet grazed the boy’s arm, and crashed 
through the rail. In a second Bob was on his feet. The 
picket was almost on him. Seizing his bundle, he dived into 


3 3 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


the thicket as a half-dozen shots were sent ringing after him, 
,the bullets hissing and whistling over his head. Several men 
dashed into the woods after him in hot pursuit, and a couple 
more galloped up the road to intercept him; but Bob’s feet 
were winged, and he slipped through briers and brush like a 
scared hare. They scratched his face and threw him down, 
but he was up again. Now and then a shot crashed behind 
him, but he did not care for that ; he thought only of being 
caught. 

A few hundred yards up, he plunged into the stream, and 
wading across, was soon safe from his pursuers. Breathless, 
he climbed the hill, made his way through the woods, and 
emerged into the open fields. Across these he sped like a 
deer. He had almost given out. What if they should have 
caught his father, and he should be too late ! A sob escaped 
him at the bare thought, and he broke again into a run, 
wiping off with his sleeve the tears that would come. The 
wind cut him like a knife, but he did not mind that. 

As he neared the house he feared that he might be inter- 
cepted again and the clothes taken from him, so he stopped 
for a moment, and slipped them on once more, rolling up the 
sleeves and legs as well as he could. He crossed the yard 
undisturbed. He went around to the same door by which 
he had come out, for he thought this his best chance. The 
same sentinel was there, walking up and down, blowing his 
cold hands. Had his father been arrested? Bob’s teeth 
chattered, but it was with suppressed excitement. 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS, 


33 


“ Pretty cold/’ said the sentry. 

“Ye — es,” gasped Bob. 

“Your mother’s been out here, looking for you, I guess,” 
said the soldier, with much friendliness. 

“ I rec — reckon so,” panted Bob, moving toward the door. 
Did that mean that his father was caught ? He opened the 
door, and slipped quietly into the corridor. 

General Denby still sat silent before the hall fire. Bob 
listened at the chamber door. His mother was weeping ; his 
father stood calm and resolute before the fire. He had 
determined to give himself up. 

“ If you only did not have on those clothes ! ” sobbed 
Mrs. Stafford. “If I only had not cut up the old uniform 
for the children ! ” 

“ Mother ! mother ! I have one ! ” gasped Bob, bursting 
into the room and tearing off the unknown major’s uniform. 

3 


VIII. 


T EN minutes later Colonel Stafford, with a steady step 
and a proud carriage, and with his hand resting on 
Bob’s shoulder, walked out into the hall. He was 
dressed in the uniform of a Confederate major, which fitted 
admirably his tall, erect figure. 

“General Denby, I believe,” he said, as the Union officer 
rose and faced him. “ We have met before under somewhat 
different circumstances,” he said, with a bow, “for I now find 
myself your prisoner.” 

“ I have the honor to request your parole,” said the 
General, with great politeness, “ and to express the hope that 
I may be able in some way to return the courtesy which I 
formerly received at your hands.” He extended his hand 
and Colonel Stafford took it. 

“You have my parole,” said he. 

“ I was not aware,” said the General, with a bow 
toward Mrs. Stafford, “until I entered the room where your 
children were sleeping, that I had the honor of your hus- 
band’s acquaintance. I will now take my leave and return to 
camp, that I may not by my presence interfere with the joy 
of this season.” 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


35 


“ I desire to introduce to you my son,” said Colonel 
Stafford, proudly presenting Bob. “ He is a hero.” 

The General bowed as he shook hands with him. Per- 
haps he had some suspicion how true a hero he was, for he 
rested his hand kindly on the boy’s head, but he said 
nothing. 

Both Colonel and Mrs. Stafford invited the old soldier 
to spend the night there, but he declined. He, however, 
accepted an invitation to dine with them next day. 

Before leaving, he requested permission to take one more 
look at the sleeping children. Over Evelyn he bent silently. 
Suddenly stooping, he kissed her little pink cheek, and with 
a scarcely audible “ Good-night,” passed out of the room and 
left the house. 

The next morning, by light, there was great rejoicing. 
Charlie and Evelyn were up betimes, and were laughing and 
chattering over their presents like two little magpies. 

“ Here’s my sword and here’s my breeches,” cried Charlie, 
“ two pair ; but I’m goin’ to put on my gray ones. I ain’t 
goin’ to wear a blue uniform.” 

“ Here’s my dolly !” screamed Evelyn, in an ecstasy over 
her beautiful present. And presently Bob and Ran burst in, 
their eyes fairly dancing. 

“ Christmas gift ! It’s a real one — real gold ! ” cried Bob, 
holding up a small gold watch, whilst Ran was shouting over 
a silver one of the same size. 

That evening, after dinner, General Denby was sitting by 


36 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


the fire in the Holly Hill parlor, with Evelyn nestled in his 
lap, her dolly clasped close to her bosom, and in the absence 
of Colonel Stafford, told Mrs. Stafford the story of the open- 
ing of the package by the camp-fire. The tears welled up 
into Mrs. Staffords eyes and ran down her cheeks. 

Charlie suddenly entered, in all the majesty of his new 
breeches, and sword buckled on hip. He saw his mother’s 
tears. His little face flushed. In a second his sword was 
out, and he struck a hostile attitude. 

“ You sha’n’t make my mamma cry ! ” he shouted. 

“Charlie! Charlie!” cried Mrs. Stafford, hastening to 
stop him. 

“ My papa said I was not to let any one make you cry,” 
insisted the boy, stepping before his mother, and still keeping 
his angry eyes on the General. 

“ Oh, Charlie ! ” Mrs. Stafford took hold of him. “ I am 
ashamed of you ! — to be so rude ! ” 

“ Let him alone, madam,” said the General. “It is not 
rudeness ; it is spirit — the spirit of our race. He has the 
soldier’s blood, and some day he will be a soldier himself, 
and a brave one. I shall count on him for the Union,” he 
said, with a smile. 

Mrs. Stafford shook her head. 

A few days later, Colonel Stafford, in accordance with 
an understanding, came over to General Denby’s camp, and 
reported to be sent on to Washington as a prisoner of war. 
The General was absent on the lines at the time, but was 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


37 


expected soon, and the Colonel waited for him at his head- 
quarters. There had been many tears shed when his wife 
bade him good-by. 

About an hour after the Colonel arrived, the General and 
his staff were riding back to camp along the road which ran 
by the Holly Hill gate. Just before they reached it, two 
little figures came out of the gate and started down the road. 
One was a boy of five, who carried a toy sword, drawn, in 
one hand, whilst with the other he led his companion, a little 
girl of three, who clasped a large yellow-haired doll to her 
breast. 

The soldiers cantered forward and overtook them. 

“ Where are you going, my little people ? ” inquired the 
General, gazing down at them affectionately. 

“ I’m goin’ to get my papa,” said the tiny swordsman 
firmly, turning a sturdy and determined little face up to him. 
“ My mamma’s cryin’, an’ I’m goin’ to take my papa home. 
I ain’ goin’ to let the Yankees have him.” 

The officers all broke into a murmur of mingled admira- 
tion and amusement. 

“ No, we ain’ goin’ let the Yankees have our papa,” 
chimed in Evelyn, pushing her tangled hair out of her eyes, 
and keeping fast hold of Charlie’s hand for fear of the horses 
around her. 

The General dismounted. 

“ How are you going to help, my little Semiramis ?” he 
asked, stooping over her with smiling eyes. 


3 » 


A CAPTURED SANTA CLAUS. 


“ I’m goin’ to give my dolly if they will give me my 
papa,” she said, gravely, as if she understood the equality of 
the exchange. 

“Suppose you give a kiss instead?” There was a sec- 
ond of hesitation, and then she put up her little face, and 
the old General dropped on one knee in the road and lifted 
her in his arms, doll and all. 

“ Gentlemen,” he said to his staff, “ you behold the future 
defenders of the Union.” 

The little ones were coaxed home, and that afternoon, as 
Colonel Stafford was expecting to leave the camp for Wash- 
ington with a lot of prisoners, a despatch was brought in to 
General Denby, who read it. 

“ Colonel,” he said, addressing him, “ I think I shall have 
to continue your parole a few days longer. I have just 
received information that, by a special cartel which I have 
arranged, you are to be exchanged for Colonel McDowell as 
soon as he can reach the lines at this point from Richmond ; 
and meantime, as we have but indifferent accommodations 
here, I shall have to request you to consider Holly Hill as 
your place of confinement. Will you be so kind as to con- 
vey my respects to Mrs. Stafford, and to your young hero 
Bob, and make good my word to those two little commis- 
sioners of exchange, to whom I feel somewhat committed ? 
I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.” 





ASKED MAMMY, SEVERELY 




KITTY KIN, AND THE PART SHE PLAYED 
IN THE WAR. 


i. 

K ITTYKIN played a part in the war which has never 
been recorded. Her name does not appear in the 
list of any battle ; nor is she mentioned in any history 
as having saved a life, or as having done anything remark- 
able one way or the other. Yet, in fact, she played a most 
important part : she prevented a battle which was just going 
to begin, and brought about a truce between the skirmish lines 
of the Union and the Confederate troops near her home 
which lasted several weeks, and probably saved many lives. 

There never was a kitten more highly prized than Kitty- 
kin, for Evelyn had long wanted a kitten, and the way she 
found her was so delightfully unexpected. 

It was during the war, when everything was very scarce 
down in the South where Evelyn lived. “ We don’t have 
any coffee, or any kittens, or anything ' 1 Evelyn said one day 
to some soldiers who had come to her home from their camp, 
which was a mile or so away. You would have thought 


42 


KITTYKIN, AND THE PART 


from the way she put them together that kittens, like coffee, 
were something to have on the table ; but she had heard her 
mamma wishing for coffee at breakfast that morning, and she 
herself had long been wanting a kitten. Indeed, she used to 
ask for one in her prayers. 

Evelyn had no fancy for anything that, in her own words, 
“ was not live.” A thing that had life was of more value in 
her eyes than all the toys that were ever given her. A 
young bird which, too fat to fly, had fallen from the nest, or 
a broken-legged chicken, which was too lame to keep up with 
its mother, had her tenderest care ; a little mouse slipping 
along the wainscot or playing on the carpet excited her live- 
liest interest ; but a kitten, a “ real live kittykin,” she had 
never possessed, though for a long time she had set her 
heart on having one. One day, however, she was out walk- 
ing with her mammy in the “big road,” when she met several 
small negro children coming along, and one of them had a 
little bit of a white kitten squeezed up in his arm. It looked 
very scared, and every now and then it cri^d “ Mew, 
mew.” 

“ Oh, mammy, look at that dear little kittykin ! ” cried 
Evelyn, running up to the children and stroking the little 
mite tenderly. 

“ What you children gwine do wid dat little cat ? ” asked 
mammy, severely. 

“We gwine loss it,” said the boy who had it, promptly. 

“ Oh, mammy, don’t let them do that ! Don’t let them 


SHE PLAYED IN THE WAR. 


43 


hurt it ! ” pleaded Evelyn, turning to her mammy. “It would 
get so hungry.” 

A sudden thought struck her, and she sprang over toward 
the boy, and took the kitten from him, which instantly curled 
up in her arms just as close to her as it could get. There 
was no resisting her appeal, and a minute later she was run- 
ning home far ahead of her mammy, with the kitten hugged 
tight in her arms. Her mamma was busy in the sitting-room 
when Evelyn came rushing in. 

“ Oh, mamma, see what I have ! A dear little kittykin ! 
Can’t I have it ? They were just going to throw it away, and 
lose it all by itself ; ” and she began to jump up and down 
and rub the kitten against her little pink cheek, till her mother 
had to take hold of her to quiet her excitement. 

Kittykin (for that was the name she had received) must 
have misunderstood the action, and have supposed she was 
going to take her from her young mistress, for she suddenly 
bunched herself up into a little white ball, and gave such a 
spit at Evelyn’s mamma that the lady jumped back nearly a 
yard, after which Kittykin quietly curled herself up again in 
Evelyn’s arm. The next thing was to give her some warm 
milk, which she drank as if she had not had a mouthful all 
day ; and then she was put to sleep in a basket of wool, where 
Evelyn looked at her a hundred times to see how she was 
coming on. 

Evelyn never doubted after that that if she prayed for a 
thing she would get it ; for she had been praying all the time 


44 


KITTYKIN ; THE PART 


for a “ little white kitten,” and not only was Kittykin as white 
as snow, but she was, to use Evelyn’s words, “ even littler ” 
than she had expected. There could not, to her mind, be 
stronger proof. 

As Kittykin grew a little she developed a temper entirely 
out of proportion to her size ; when she got mad, she got 
mad all over. If anything offended her she would suddenly 
back up into a corner, her tail would get about twice as large 
as usual, and she would spit like a little fury. However, she 
never fought her little mistress, and even in her worst mo- 
ments she would allow Evelyn to take her and lay her on her 
back in the little cradle she had, or carry her by the neck, or 
the legs, or almost any way except by the tail. To pull her 
tail was a liberty she never would allow even Evelyn to take. 
If she was held by the tail her little pink claws flew out as 
quick as a wink and as sharp as needles. Evelyn was very 
kind to Kittykin, however, and was careful not to provoke 
her, for she had been told that getting angry and kicking on 
the floor, as she herself sometimes did when mammy wanted 
to comb her curly hair, would make an ugly little girl, and of 
course it would have the same effect on a kitten. 

Fierce, however, as Kittykin was, it soon appeared that 
she was the greatest little coward in the world. A worm in 
the walk or a little beetle running across the floor would set 
her to jumping as if she had a fit, and the first time she ever 
saw a mouse she was far more afraid of it than it was of her. 
If it had been a rat, I am sure that she would have died. 


x 


SHE PLAYED IN THE WAR. 


45 


One day Evelyn was sitting on the floor in her mother s 
chamber sewing a little blue bag, which she said was her 
work-bag, when a tiny mouse ran, like a little gray shadow, 
across the hearth. Kittykin was at the moment busily en- 
gaged in rolling about a ball of yarn almost as white as her- 
self, and the first thing Evelyn knew she gave a jump like a 
trap-ball, and slid up the side of the bureau like a little shaft 
of light, where she stood with all four feet close together, her 
small back roached up in an arch, her tail all fuzzed up over 
it, and her mouth wide open and spitting like a little demon. 
She looked so funny that Evelyn dropped her sewing, and 
the mouse, frightened half out of its little wits, took advan- 
tage of her consternation to make a rush back to its hole 
under the wainscoting, into which it dived like a little duck. 
After holding her lofty position for some time, Kittykin let 
her hairs fall and lowered her back, but every now and then 
she would raise them again at the bare thought of the awful 
animal which had so terrified her. At length she decided 
that she might go down ; but how was she to do it? Smooth 
though the mahogany was, she had, under excitement, gone 
up like a streak of lightning ; but now when she was cool she 
was afraid to jump down. It was so high that it made her 
head swim ; so, after walking timidly around and peeping 
over at the floor, she began to cry for some one to take her 
down, just as Evelyn would have done under the same 
circumstances. 

Evelyn tried to coax her down, but she would not come ; 


4 6 


KITTYKIN , AND THE PART 


so finally she had to drag a chair up to the bureau and get 
up on it to reach her. 

Perhaps it was the fright she experienced when she found 
herself up so high that caused Kittykin to revenge herself on 
the little mouse shortly afterward, or perhaps it was only her 
cat instinct developing ; but it was only a short time after 
this that Kittykin did an act which grieved her little mistress 
dreadfully. The little mouse had lived under the wainscot 
since long before Kittykin had come, and it and Evelyn were 
on very good terms. It would come out and dash along by 
the wall to the wardrobe, under which it would disappear, and 
after staying there some time it would hurry back. This 
Evelyn used to call “ paying visits ; ” and she often wondered 
what mice talked about when they got together under the 
wardrobe. Or sometimes it would slip out and frisk around 
on the floor — “ just playing,” as ^Evelyn said. There was a 
perfect understanding between them : Evelyn was not to hurt 
the mouse nor let mammy set a trap for it, and the mouse was 
not to bite Evelyn’s clothes — but if it had to cut at all, was 
to confine itself to her mamma’s. After Kittykin came, how- 
ever, the mouse appeared to be much less sociable than for- 
merly ; and after the occasion when it alarmed Kittykin so, it 
did not come out again for a long time. Evelyn used to 
wonder if its mamma was keeping it in. 

One day, however, Evelyn was sewing, and Kittykin was 
lying by, when she suddenly seemed to get tired of doing 
nothing, and began to walk about. 


SHE PLAYED IN THE V/AR. 


47 


“ Lie down, Kittykin,” said her mistress ; but Kittykin did 
not appear to hear. She just lowered her head, and peeped 
under the bureau, with her eyes set in a curious way. Pres- 
ently she stooped very low, and slid along the floor without 
making the slightest noise, every now and then stopping per- 
fectly still. Evelyn watched her closely, for she had never 
seen her act so before. Suddenly, however, Kittykin gave a 
spring, and disappeared under the bureau. Evelyn heard a 
little squeak, and the next minute Kittykin walked out with 
a little mouse in her mouth, over which she was growling, like 
a little tigress. Evelyn was jumping up to take it away from 
her when Kittykin, who had gone out into the middle of the 
room, turned it loose herself, and quietly walking away, lay 
down as if she were going to sleep. Then Evelyn saw that 
she did not mean to hurt it, so she sat and watched the 
mouse, which remained quite still for some time. 

After a while it moved a little, to see if Kittykin was really 
asleep. Kittykin did not stir. Her eyes were fast shut, and 
the mouse seemed satisfied ; so, after waiting a bit, it made a 
little dash toward the bureau. In a single bound Kittykin 
was right over it, and had laid her white paw on it. She did 
not, however, appear to intend it any injury, but began to 
play with it just as Evelyn would have liked to do ; and, lying 
down, she rolled over and over, holding it up and tossing it 
gently, quite as Evelyn sometimes did her, or patting it and 
admiring it as if it had been the sweetest little mouse in the 
world. The mouse, too, appeared not to mind it the least 


48 


KITTIKIN ; 


bit ; and Evelyn was just thinking how nice it was that Kitty- 
kin and it had become such friends, and was planning nice 
games with them, when there was a faint little squeak, and 
she saw Kittykin, who had just been petting the little crea- 
ture, suddenly drive her sharp white teeth into its neck. 

Evelyn rushed at her. 

“ Oh, you wicked Kittykin ! Aren’t you ashamed of 
yourself?” she cried, catching her up by the tail and shak- 
ing her well, as the best way to punish her. 

Just then her mamma entered. “ Oh, Evelyn, why are 
you treating kitty so ?” she asked. 

“ Because she’s so mean,” said Evelyn, severely. “ She’s 
a murderer.” 

Her mamma tried to explain that killing the mouse was 
Kittykin’s nature ; but Evelyn could not see that this made it 
any the less painful, and she was quite cool to Kittykin for 
some time. 

The little mouse was buried that evening in a matchbox 
under a rose-bush in the garden ; and Kittykin, in a black rag 
which was tied around her as a dress, was compelled, evi- 
dently much against her will, to do penance by acting as chief 


mourner. 


II. 


K ITTYKIN was about five months old when there was a 
great marching of soldiers backward and forward ; the 
tents in the field beyond the woods were taken down 
and carried away in wagons, and there was an immense stir. 
The army was said to be “ moving. ” There were rumors 

that the enemy was coming, and that there might be a battle 
near there. Evelyn was so young that she did not under- 
stand any more of it than Kittykin did ; but her mother 
appeared so troubled that Evelyn knew it was very bad, 
and became frightened, though she did not know why. Her 
mammy soon gave her such a gloomy account, that Evelyn 
readily agreed with her that it was “ like torment.” As for 
Kittykin, if she had been born in a battle, she could not have 
been more unconcerned. In a day or two it was known that 
the main body of the army was some little way off on a long 
ridge, and that the enemy had taken up its position on 
another hill not far distant, and Evelyn’s home was between 
them ; but there was no battle. Each army began to 
intrench itself ; and in a little while there was a* long red 
bank stretched across the far edge of the great field behind 
the house, which Evelyn was told was “ breastworks ” for the 
4 


KITTYKIN ; AND THE PART 


5 ° 

picket line, and she pointed them out to Kittykin, who 
blinked and yawned as if she did not care the least bit if 
they were. 

Next morning a small squadron of cavalry came galloping 
by. A body of the enemy had been seen, and they were 
going to learn what it meant. In a little while they came 
back. 

“ The enemy,” they said, “ were advancing, and there 
would probably be a skirmish right there immediately.” 

As they rode by, they urged Evelyn’s mamma either to 
leave the house at once or to go down into the basement, 
where they might be safe from the bullets. Then they gal- 
loped on across the field to get the rest of their men, who 
were in the trenches beyond. Before they reached there a 
lot of men appeared on the edge of the wood in front of the 
house. No one could tell how many they were ; but the sun 
gleamed on their arms, and there was evidently a good force. 
At first they were on horseback ; but there was a “ Bop ! 
bop J ” from the trenches in the field behind the house, and 
they rode back, and did not come out any more. Next 
morning, however, they too had dug a trench. These, 
Evelyn heard some one say, were a picket line. About 
eleven o’clock they came out into the field, and they seemed 
to have spread themselves out behind a little rise or knoll 
in front of the house. Mammy’s teeth were just chattering, 
and she went to moaning and saying her prayers as hard 
as she could, and Evelyn’s mamma told her to take Evelyn 


SHE PLAYED IN THE WAR. 


5i 


down into the basement, and she would bring the baby ; so 
mammy, who had been following mamma about, seized 
Evelyn, and rushed with her down-stairs, where, although 
they were quite safe, as the windows were only half above 
the ground, she fell on her face on the floor, praying as if 
her last hour had come. “ Bop ! bop !” went some muskets 
up behind the house. “ Bang ! bop ! bang ! ” went some on 
the other side. 

Evelyn suddenly remembered Kittykin. “ Where was 
she?” The last time she had seen her was a half-hour 
before, when she had been lying curled up on the back steps 
fast asleep in the sun. Suppose she should be there now, 
she would certainly be killed, for the back steps ran right out 
into the yard so as to be just the place for Kittykin to be 
shot. So thought Evelyn. “ Bang ! bang ! ” went the guns 
again — somewhere. Evelyn dragged a chair up to a window 
and looked. Her heart almost stopped ; for there, out in 
the yard, quite clear of the houses, was Kittykin, standing 
some way up the trunk of a tall locust-tree, looking curiously 
around. Her little white body shone like a small patch of 
snow against the dark brown bark. Evelyn sprang down 
from the chair, and forgetting everything, rushed through 
the entry and out of doors. 

“ Kitty, kitty, kitty ! ” she called. “ Kittykin, come here ! 
You’ll be killed ! Come here, Kittykin ! ” 

Kittykin, however, was in for a game, and as her little 
mistress, with her golden hair flying in the breeze, ran toward 


52 


KITTY KIN, AND THE PART 


her, she rushed scampering still higher up the tree. Evelyn 
could see that there were some men scattered out in the 
fields on either side of her, some of them stooping, and some 
lying down, and as she ran on toward the tree she heard a 
“ Bang ! bang ! ” on each side, and she saw little puffs of 
white smoke, and something went “Zoo-ee-ee ” up in the air ; 
but she did not think about herself, she was so frightened for 
Kittykin. 

•‘Kitty, kitty! Come down, Kittykin !” she called, run- 
ning up to the tree and holding up her arms to her. Kitty- 
kin might, perhaps, have liked to come down now, but she 
could no longer do so ; she was too high up. She looked 
down, first over one shoulder, and then over the other, but it 
was too high to jump. She could not turn around, and her 
head began to swim. She grew so dizzy, she was afraid she 
might fall, so she dug her little sharp claws into the bark, 
and began to cry. 

Evelyn would have run back to tell her mamma (who, 
having sent the baby down-stairs to mammy, was still busy 
up-stairs trying to hide some things, and so did not know she 
was out in the yard); but she was so afraid Kittykin might 
be killed that she could not let her get out of her sight. 
Indeed, she was so absorbed in Kittykin that she forgot 
all about everything else. She even forgot all about the 
soldiers. But though she did not notice the soldiers, it 
seemed that some of them had observed her. Just as the 
leader of the Confederate picket line was about to give an 




























» 







































I WANT MY KITTYKIN,” SAIL> EVELYN. 



SHE PLAYED IN THE WAR. 


55 


order to make a dash for the houses in the yard, to his hor- 
ror he saw a little girl in a white dress and with flying hair 
suddenly run out into the clear space right between him and 
the soldiers on the other side, and stop under a tree just in 
the line of their fire. His heart jumped into his mouth as he 
sprang to his feet and waved his hands wildly to call atten- 
tion to the child. Then shouting to his men to stop firing, 
he walked out in front of the line, and came at a rapid stride 
down the slope. The others all stood still and almost held 
their breaths for fear some one would shoot ; but no one did. 
Evelyn was so busy trying to coax Kittykin down that she 
did not notice anything until she heard some one call out : 

“ For Heaven’s sake, run into the house, quick!” 

She looked around and saw the gentleman hurrying 
toward her. He appeared to be very much excited. 

“ What on earth are you doing out here ? ” he gasped, as 
he came running up to her. 

He was a young man, with just a little light mustache, 
and with a little gold braid on the sleeves of his gray jacket; 
and though he seemed very much surprised, he looked very 
kind. 

lt I want my Kittykin,” said Evelyn, answering him, and 
looking up the tree, with a little wave of her hand, towards 
where Kittykin still clung tightly. Somehow she felt at the 
moment that this gentleman could help her better than any 
one else. 

Kittykin, however, apparently thought differently about 


56 


KITTYKIN, AND THE PART 


it; for she suddenly stopped mewing; and as if she felt it 
unsafe to be so near a stranger, she climbed carefully up 
until she reached a limb, in the crotch of which she en- 
sconced herself, and peeped curiously over at them with a 
look of great satisfaction in her face, as much as to say, 
“ Now Fm safe. I’d like to see you get me.” 

The gentleman was stroking Evelyn’s hair, and was 
looking at her very intently, when a voice called to him 
from the other side : 

“ Hello, Johnny! what’s the matter?” 

Evelyn looked around, and saw another gentleman coming 
toward them. He was older than the first one, and had on a 
blue coat, while the first had on a gray one. She knew one 
was a Confederate and the other was a Yankee, and for a 
second she was afraid they might shoot each other, but her 
first friend called out : 

“ Her kitten is up the tree. Come ahead ! ” 

He came on, and looked for a second up at Kittykin, but 
he looked at Evelyn really hard, and suddenly stooped down, 
and putting his arm around her, drew her up to him. She got 
over her fear in a minute. 

“Kittykin’s up- there, and I’m afraid she’ll be kilt.” She 
waved her hand up over her head, where Kittykin was taking 
occasion to put a few more limbs between herself and the 
enemy. 

“ It’s rather a dangerous place when the boys are out 
hunting, eh, Johnny?” He laughed as he stood up again. 


SHE PLAYED IN THE WAR. 


57 


“ Yes, for as big a fellow as you. You wouldn’t stand the 
ghost of a show.” 

“ I guess I’d feel small enough up there.” And both 
men laughed. 

By this time the men on both sides began to come up, 
with their guns over their arms. 

“ Hello ! what’s up ?” some of them called out. 

“ Her kitten’s up,” said the first two ; and, to make good 
their words, Kittykin, not liking so many people below her, 
shifted her position again, and went up to a fresh limb, from 
which she again peeped over at them. The men all gathered 
around Evelyn, and began to talk to her, and both she and 
Kittykin were surprised to hear them joking and laughing 
together in the friendliest way. 

“ What are you doing out here ? ” they asked ; and to all 
she made the same reply : 

“ I want my Kittykin.” 

Suddenly her mamma came out. She had just gone 
down-stairs, and had learned where Evelyn was. The two 
officers went up and spoke to her, but the men still crowded 
around Evelyn. 

“ She’ll come down,” said one. “ All you have to do is 
to let her alone.” 

“ No, she won’t. She can’t come down. It makes her 
head swim,” said Evelyn. 

“ That’s true,” thought Kittykin up in the tree, and to let 
them understand it she gave a little “ Mew.” 


58 


KITTY KIN, AND THE PART 


“ I don’t see how anything can swim when it’s as dry as 
it is around here,” said a fellow in gray. 

A man in blue handed him his canteen, which he at once 
accepted, and after surprising Evelyn by smelling it — which 
she knew was dreadfully bad manners — turned it up to his 
lips. She heard the liquid gurgling. 

As he handed it back to its owner he said: "Yank, I’m 
mighty glad I didn’t shoot you. I might have hit that can- 
teen.” At which there was a laugh, and the canteen went 
around until it was empty. Suddenly Kittykin from her high 
perch gave a faint “ Mew,” which said, as plainly as words 
could say it, that she wanted to get down and could not. 

Evelyn’s big brown eyes filled with tears. “ I want my 
Kittykin,” she said, her little lip trembling 

Instantly a dozen men unbuckled their belts, laid their 
guns on the ground, and pulled off their coats, each one try- 
ing to be the first to climb the tree. It was, however, too 
large for them to reach far enough around to get a good 
hold on it, so climbing it was found to be far more difficult 
than it looked to be. 

“ Why don’t you cut it down ?” asked some one. 

But Evelyn cried out that that would kill Kittykin, so 
the man who suggested it was called a fool by the others. 
At last it was proposed that one man should stand against 
the tree and another should climb up on his shoulders, when 
he might get his arms far enough around it to work his way 
up. A stout fellow with a gray jacket on planted himself 


SHE PLAYED IN THE WAR . 


59 


firmly against the trunk, and one who had taken off a blue 
jacket climbed up on his shoulders, and might have got up 
very well if he had not remarked that as the Johnnies had 
walked over him in the last battle, it was but fair that he 
should now walk over a Johnny. This joke tickled the man 
under him so that he slipped away and let him down. At 
length, however, three or four men got good “ holds,” and 
went slowly up one after the other amid such encouraging 
shouts from their friends on the ground below as : “ Go it, 
Yank, the Johnny’s almost got you!” “ Look out, Johnny, 
the Yanks are right behind you ! ” etc., whilst Kittykin gazed 
down in astonishment from above, and Evelyn looked up 
breathless from below. With much pulling and kicking, 
four men finally got up to the lowest limb, after which the 
climbing was comparatively easy. A new difficulty, how- 
ever, presented itself. Kittykin suddenly took alarm, and 
retreated still higher up among the branches. 

The higher they climbed after that, the higher she climbed, 
until she was away up on one of the topmost boughs, which 
was far too slender for any one to follow her. There she 
turned and looked back with alternate alarm and satisfaction 
expressed in her countenance. If the men stirred, she stood 
ready to fly ; if they kept still, she settled down and mewed 
plaintively. Once or twice as they moved she took fright 
and looked almost as if about to jump. 

Evelyn was breathless with excitement. “ Don’t let her 
jump,” she called, “she will get kilt !” 


6o 


KITTYKIN i THE PART 


>, 


The men, too, were anxious to prevent that. They called 
to her, held out their hands, and coaxed her in every tone by 
which a kitten is supposed to be influenced. But it was all 
in vain. No cajoleries, no promises, no threats, were of the 
least avail. Kittykin was there safe, out of their reach, and 
there she would remain, sixty feet above the ground. Sud- 
denly she saw that something was occurring below. She saw 
the men all gather around her little mistress, and could hear 
her at first refuse to let something be done, and then consent. 
She could not make out what it was, though she strained her 
ears. She' remembered to have heard mammy tell her little 
mistress once that “curiosity had killed a cat,” and she was 
afraid to think too much about it so high up in the tree. Still 
when she heard an order given, “ Go back and get your blank- 
ets,” and saw a whole lot of the men go running off into the 
field on either side, and presently come back with their arms 
full of blankets, she could not help wondering what they were 
going to do. They at once began to unroll the blankets and 
hold them open all around the tree, until a large circle of the 
ground was quite hidden. 

“ Ah ! ” said Kittykin, “ it’s a wicked trap ! ” and she dug 
her little claws deep into the bark, and made up her mind 
that nothing should induce her to jump. Presently she heard 
the soldiers in the tree under her call to those on the 
ground : 

“ Are you ready ? ” 

And they said, “ All right ! ” 


SHE PLAYED IN THE WAR. 


61 


“ Ah ! ” said Kittykin, “ they cannot get down, either. 
Serves them right ! ” 

But suddenly they all waved their arms at her and cried, 
“Scat!” 

Goodness ! The idea of crying “scat ” at a kitten when 
she is up in a tree ! — “ scat,” which fills a kitten’s breast with 
terror ! It was brutal, and then it was all so unexpected. It 
came very near making her fall. As it was, it set her heart 
to thumping and bumping against her ribs, like a marble in 
a box. “ Ah ! ” she thought, “ if those brutes below were but 
mice, and I had them on the carpet ! ” So she dug her claws 
into the bark, which was quite tender up there, and it was 
well she did, for she heard some one call something below 
that sounded like “ Shake !” and before she knew it the man 
nearest her reached up, and, seizing the limb on which she 
was, screwed up his face, and — Goodness ! it nearly shook 
the teeth out of her mouth and the eyes out of her head. 

Shake ! shake ! shake ! it came again, each time nearly 
tearing her little claws out of their sockets and scaring her to 
death. She saw the ground swim far below her, and felt that 
she would be mashed to death. Shake ! shake ! shake ! shake ! 
She could not hold out much longer, and she spat down at 
them. How those brutes below laughed ! She formed a 
desperate resolve. She would get even with them. “Ah, if 
they were but — ” Shake ! sha — With a fierce spit, partly 
of rage, partly of fear, Kittykin let go, whirled suddenly, and 
flung herself on the upturned face of the man next beneath 


62 


KITTYKIN y AND THE PART 


her, from him to the man below him, and finally, digging her 
little claws deep in his flesh, sprang with a wild leap clear of 
the boughs, and shot whizzing out into the air, whilst the two 
men, thrown off their guard by the suddenness of the attack, 
loosed their hold, and went crashing down into the forks upon 
those below. 

The first thing Evelyn and the men on the ground knew 
was the crash of the falling men and the sight of Kittykin 
coming whizzing down, her little claws clutching wildly at 
the air. Before they could see what she was, she gave a 
bounce like a trap-ball as high as a man’s head, and then, 
as she touched the ground again, shot like a wild sky-rocket 
hissing across the yard, and, with her tail all crooked to 
one side and as big as her body, vanished under the house. 
Oh, such a shout as there was from the soldiers ! Evelyn 
heard them yelling as she ran off after Kittykin to see if 
she wasn’t dead. They fairly howled with delight as the 
men in the tree, with scratched faces and torn clothes, came 
crawling down. They looked very sheepish as they landed 
among their comrades ; but the question whether Kittykin 
had landed in a blanket or had hit the solid ground fifty 
feet out somewhat relieved them. They all agreed that she 
had bounced twenty feet. 

Why Kittykin was not killed outright was a marvel. One 
of her eyes was a little bunged up, the claws on three of her 
feet were loosened, and for a week she felt as if she had been 
run through a sausage mill ; but she never lost any of her 


SHE PLAYED IN THE WAR. 


63 


speed. Ever afterward when she saw a soldier she would run 
for life, and hide as far back under the house as she could 
get, with her eyes shining like two little live coals. 

For some time, indeed, she lived in perpetual terror, for 
the soldiers of both lines used to come up to the house, as 
the friendship they formed that day never was changed, and 
though they remained on the two opposite hills for quite a 
while, they never fired a shot at each other. They used in- 
stead to meet and exchange tobacco and coffee, and laugh 
over the way Kittykin routed their joint forces in the tree 
the day of the skirmish. 

As for Kittykin, she never put on any airs about it. She 
did not care for that sort of glory. She never afterward 
could tolerate a tree ; the earth was good enough for her ; 
and the highest she ever climbed was up in her little mis- 
tress’s lap. 



“NANCY PANSY.” 


i. 

T ANCY PANSY” was what Middleburgh called her. 
| \| though the parish register of baptism contained 
nothing nearer the name than that of one Anne, 
daughter of Baylor Seddon, Esq., and Ellenor his wife. 
Whatever the register may have thought about it, “ Nancy 
Pansy” was what Middleburgh called her, and she looked so 
much like a cherub, with her great eyes laughing up at you 
and her tangles blowing all about her dimpling pink face, 
that Dr. Spotswood Hunter, or “ the Old Doctor,” as he 
was known to Middleburgh, used to vow she had gotten out 
of Paradise by mistake that Christmas Eve. 

Nancy Pansy was the idol of the old doctor, as the old 
doctor was the idol of Middleburgh. He had given her a 
doll baby on the day she was born, and he always brought 
her one on her birthday, though, of course, the first three or 
four which he gave her were of rubber, because as long as 
she was a little girl she used to chew her doll after a most 
cannibal-like fashion, she and Harry’s puppies taking turn 


66 


NANCY PANSY.” 


and turn about at chewing in the most impartial and 
friendly way. Harry was the old doctor’s son. As she grew 
a little older, however, the doctor brought her better dolls ; 
but the puppies got older faster than Nancy Pansy, and kept 
on chewing up her dolls, so they did not last very long, 
which, perhaps, was why she never had a “ real live doll,” as 
she called it. 

Some 1 people said the reason the old doctor was so fond 
of Nancy Pansy was because he had been a lover of her 
beautiful aunt, whose picture as Charity giving Bread to the 
Poor Woman and her Children was in the stained-glass win- 
dow in the church, with the Advent angel in the panel below ; 
to show that she had died at Christmas-tide and was an angel 
herself now ; some said it was because he had had a little 
daughter himself who had died when a wee bit of a girl, 
and Nancy Pansy reminded him of her; some said it was 
because his youngest born, his boy Harry, with the light 
hair, who now commanded a company in the Army of North- 
ern Virginia, was so fond of Nancy Pansy’s lovely sister 
Ellen , some said it was because the old doctor was fond of 
all children ; but the old doctor said it was “because Nancy 
Pansy was Nancy Pansy,” and looked like an angel, and had 
more sense than anybody in Middleburgh, except his old 
sorrel horse Slouch, who, he always maintained, had sense 
enough to have prevented the war if he had been consulted. 

Whatever was the cause, Nancy Pansy was the old doc- 
tor’s boon companion ; and wherever the old doctor was, 


NANCY PANSY, 


67 


whether in his old rattling brown buggy, with Slouch jog- 
ging sleepily along the dusty roads which Middleburgh 
called her “ streets,” or sitting in the shadiest corner of his 
porch, Nancy Pansy was in her waking hours generally be- 
side him, her great pansy-colored eyes and her sunny hair 
making a bright contrast to the white locks and tanned 
cheeks of the old man. His home was just across the fence 
from the big house in which Nancy Pansy lived, and there 
was a hole where two palings were pulled off, through which 
Nancy Pansy used to slip when she went back and forth, 
and through which her little black companion, whose name, 
according to Nancy Pansy’s dictionary, was “ Marphy,” just 
could squeeze. Sometimes, indeed, Nancy Pansy used to 
fall asleep over at the old doctor’s on the warm summer 
afternoons, and wake up next morning, curiously enough, to 
find herself in a strange room, in a great big bed, with a rail- 
ing around the top of the high bedposts, and curtains hang- 
ing from it, and with Marphy asleep on a pallet near by. 

“That child is your shadow, doctor,” said Nancy Pansy’s 
mother one day to him. 

“ No, madam ; she is my sunshine,” answered the old 
man, gravely. 

Nancy Pansy’s mother smiled, for when the old doctor 
said a thing he meant it. All Middleburgh knew that, from 
old Slouch, who never would open his eyes for any one else, 
and old Mrs. Hippin, who ne^er would admit she was better 
to any one else, up to Nancy Pancy herself. Perhaps this 


68 


NANCY PANSY: 


was the reason why when the war broke out, and all the 
other men went into the army, the old doctor, who was too 
old and feeble to go himself, but had sent his only son 
Harry, was chosen by tacit consent as Middleburgh’s general 
adviser and guardian. Thus it was he who had to advise 
Mrs. Latimer, the druggist’s wife, how to keep the little 
apothecary’s shop at the corner of the Court-house Square 
after her husband went into the army ; and it was he who 
advised Mrs. Seddon to keep the post-office in the little 
building at the bottom of her lawn, which had served as her 
husband’s law office before he went off to the war at the head 
of the Middleburgh Artillery. He even gave valuable assist- 
ance as well as advice to Mrs. Hippin about curing her 
chickens of the gapes; and to Nancy Pansy’s great astonish- 
ment had several times performed a most remarkable oper- 
ation by inserting a hair from old Slouch’s mane down the 
invalid’s little stretched throat. 

He used to go around the town nearly every afternoon, 
seeing the healthy as well as the sick, and giving advice as 
well as physic, both being taken with equal confidence. It 
was what he called “reviewing his out-posts,” and he used to 
explain to Nancy Pansy that that was the way her father and 
his Harry did in their camp. Nancy Pansy did not wholly 
understand him, but she knew it was something that was just 
right; so she nodded gravely, and said, “ Umh-hmh !” 

It was not hard to get a doll the first year of the war, but 
before the second year was half over there was not one left 


NANCY PANSY. 


69 


in Middleburgh. The old doctor explained to Nancy Pansy 
that they had all gone away to the war. She did not quite 
understand what dollies had to do with fighting, but she 
knew that war made the dolls disappear. Still she kept on 
talking about the new doll she would get on her birthday at 
Christmas, and as the old doctor used to talk to her about it, 
and discuss the sort of hair it should have, and the kind of 
dress it should wear, she never doubted that she should get it 
in her stocking as usual on Christmas morning. 


II. 


T HE old doctor’s boots were very bad — those old boots 
which Middleburgh knew as well as they knew Nancy 
Pansy’s eyes or the church steeple. Mrs. Seddon had 
taken the trouble to scold him one day in the autumn when 
she heard him coughing, and she had sent him a small roll of 
money “ on account,” she wrote him, “ of a long bill,” to get 
a pair of new boots. The old doctor never sent in a bill ; he 
would as soon have sent a small-pox patient into Nancy 
Pansy’s play-room. He calmly returned the money, saying he 
never transacted business with women who had husbands, and 
that he had always dressed to suit himself, at which Mrs. 
Seddon laughed ; for, like the rest of Middleburgh, she knew 
that those old boots never stood back for any weather, how- 
ever bad. She arranged, however, to have a little money sent 
to him through the post-office from another town without any 
name to the letter enclosing it. But the old boots were still 
worn, and Nancy Pansy, at her mother’s suggestion, learned 
to knit, that she might have a pair of yarn socks knit for 
the old doctor at Christmas. She intended to have kept this 
a secret, and she did keep it from every one but the doctor ; 
she did not quite tell even him, but she could not help mak- 


NANCY PANSY. 


7i 


ing him “ guess ” about it. Christmas Eve she went over to 
the old doctor’s, and whilst she made him shut his eyes, hung 
up his stocking herself, into which she poked a new pair of 
very queer-shaped yarn socks, a little black in some places 
from her little hands, for they were just done, and there had 
not been time to wash them. She consulted the old doctor 
to know if he really — really, “ now, really ” — thought Santa 
Claus would bring her a doll “ through the war;” but she 
could only get a “perhaps” out of him, for he said he 
had not heard from Harry. 

It was about ten o’clock that night when the old doctor 
came home from his round of visits, and opening his old 
secretary, took out a long thin bundle wrapped in paper, 
and slipping it into his pocket, went out again into the snow 
which was falling. Old Limpid, the doctor’s man, had taken 
Slouch to the stable, so the old doctor walked, stumbling 
around through the dark by the gate, thinking with a sigh 
of his boy Harry, who would just have vaulted over the 
palings, and who was that night sleeping in the snow some- 
where. However, he smiled when he put the bundle into 
Nancy Pansy’s long stocking, and he smiled again when he 
put his old worn boots to the hre and warmed his feet. 
But when Nancy Pansy slipped next morning through her 
“ little doctor’s-gate,” as she called her hole in the fence, and 
burst into his room before he was out of bed, to show him 
with dancing eyes what Santa Claus had brought her, and 
announced that she had “named her ‘Harry,’ all herself,” 


72 


NANCY PANSY: 


the old doctor had to wipe his eyes before he could really 
see her. 

Harry was the first “real doll” Nancy Pansy had ever 
had — that was what she said — and Harry soon became as 
well known in Middleburgh as Nancy Pansy herself. She 
used to accompany Nancy Pansy and .xe old doctor on their 
rounds, and instead of the latter two being called “the 
twins,” they and Harry were now dubbed “the triplets.” It 
was astonishing what an influence Harry came to have on 
Nancy Pansy’s life. She carried her everywhere, and the 
doll would frequently be seen sitting up in the old doctor’s 
buggy alone, whilst Slouch dozed in the sun outside of some 
patient’s door. Of course, so much work as Harry had to do 
had the effect of marring her freshness a good deal, and 
she met with one or two severe accidents, such as break- 
ing her leg, and cracking her neck ; but the old doctor 
attended her in the gravest way, and performed such success- 
ful operations that really she was, except as to looks, almost 
as good as new ; besides, as Nancy Pansy explained, dolls 
had to have measles and “theseases” just like other folks. 


III. 


I N March, 186-, Middleburgh “ fell.” That is, it fell into 
the hands of the Union army, and remained in their 
hands afterwards. It was terrible at first, and Nancy 
Pansy stuffed Harry into a box, and hid her away. 

It was awfully lonesome, however, and to think of the 
way Harry was doubled up and cramped down in that box 
under the floor was dreadful. So at last, finding that what- 
ever else they did, the soldiers did not trouble her, she took 
Harry out. But she never could go about with her as 
before, for of course things were different, and although she 
got over her fright at the soldiers, as did her sister Ellen and 
the rest of Middleburgh, they never were friendly. Indeed, 
sometimes they were just the reverse, and at last they got to 
such a pitch that the regiment which was there was taken 
away, and a new regiment, or, rather, two new companies, 
were sent there. These were Companies A and C of the 

— th Regiment of Veterans. They had been originally 

known as Volunteers, but now they were known as “ Vet- 
erans,” because they had been in so many battles. 

The — th were perhaps the youngest men in that depart- 
ment, being mainly young college fellows who had enlisted 


74 


NANCY PANSY." 


all together. Some of the regiments composed of older men 
were at first inclined to laugh at the smooth-faced youngsters 
who could hardly raise a mustache to a mess ; but when 
these same rosy-cheeked fellows flung off their knapsacks in 
battle after battle, and went rushing ahead under a hail of 
bullets and shell, they changed their tune and dubbed them 
“The Baby Veterans.” Thus, in 186-, the Baby Veterans 
went to Middleburgh for a double purpose : — first, that they 
might recruit and rest ; and, secondly, because for the past 
six months Middleburgh had been causing much worry, and 
was regarded as a nest of treason and trouble. The regi- 
ment which had been there before was a new regiment, not 
long since recruited, and had been in a continual quarrel 
with Middleburgh, and as Middleburgh consisted mainly of 
women and children, and a few old men, there was not much 
honor to be got out of rows with them. Middleburgh com- 
plained that the soldiers were tyrannical and caused the 
trouble ; the soldiers insisted that Middleburgh was con- 
stantly breaking the regulations, and conducted itself in a 
high-handed and rebellious way, and treated them with open 
scorn. As an evidence, it was cited that the women in 
Middleburgh would not speak to the Union soldiers. And 
it was rumored that the girls there were uncommonly pretty. 
When the Baby Veterans heard this, they simply laughed, 
pulled their budding mustaches, and announced that they 
would “keep things straight in Middleburgh.” 

Tom Adams was first lieutenant of Company C. He 


NANCY PANSY. 


75 


had enlisted as a private, and had been rapidly promoted to 
corporal, sergeant, and then lieutenant ; and he was in a fair 
way to be captain soon, as the captain of his company was 
at home badly wounded, and if he should be permanently dis- 
abled, Tom was certain of the captaincy. If any man could 
bring Middleburgh to terms, Tom Adams was the man, so 
his friends declared, and they would like to see any woman 
who would refuse to speak to Tom Adams — they really 
would. 

The Baby Veterans reached Middleburgh in the night, 
and took up their quarters on the Court-house Square, va- 
cated by the regiment which had just left. When morning 
came they took a look at Middleburgh, and determined to 
intimidate it on the spot. They drilled, marched and 
counter-marched up and down the dusty streets, and around 
the old whitewashed court-house, to show that they meant 
business, and did not propose to stand any foolishness — 
not they. 

Nancy Pansy and her sister Ellen had been with Harry 
to see old Mrs. Hippin, who was sick, to carry her some 
bread and butter, and were returning home about mid-day. 
They had not seen the new soldiers, and were hurrying along, 
hoping they might not see them, when they suddenly heard 
the drums and fifes playing, and turning the corner, they saw 
the soldiers between them and their gate, marching up the 
road toward them. A tall young officer was at their head ; 
his coat was buttoned up very tight, and he carried his drawn 


76 


NANCY PANSY. 


sword with the handle in his right hand and the tip in his 
left, and carried his head very high. It was Tom Adams. 
Nancy Pansy caught tight hold of her sister’s hand, and 
clasped Harry closely to her bosom. For a second they 
stopped then, as there was no help for it, they started for- 
ward across the road, just in front of the soldiers. They 
were so close that Nancy Pansy was afraid they would march 
over them, and she would have liked to run. She clutched 
sister’s hand hard ; but her sister did not quicken her pace at 
all, and the young officer had to give the order, “ Mark time 
— march!” to let them pass. He looked very grand as 
he drew himself up, but Nancy Pansy’s sister held her hand 
firmly, and took not the slightest notice of him. Lifting her 
head defiantly in the air, and keeping her dark eyes straight 
before her, she passed with Nancy Pansy within two steps 
of the young lieutenant and his drawn sword, neither quick- 
ening nor slowing her pace a particle. They might have 
seemed not to know that a Federal soldier was within a 
hundred miles of them but for the way that Nancy Pansy 
squeezed Harry, and the scornful air which sat on her sister’s 
stern little face and erect figure as she drew Nancy Pansy 
closer to her, and gathered up her skirts daintily in her small 
hand, as though they might be soiled by an accidental 
touch. 

Tom Adams had a mind to give the order ** Forward !” 
and make them run out of the way, but he did not do it, so 
he marched back to camp, and told the story to his mess, 


NANCY PANSY CLASPED HARRY CLOSELY TO HER BOSOM 


















































































. 

























































nancy pansy: 


79 


walking around the table, holding the table-cloth in his hand, 
to show how the little rebel had done. He vowed he would 
get even with her. 

As the days went on, the Baby Veterans and Middleburgh 
-ame no nearer being acquainted than they were that morn- 
ing. The Baby Veterans still drilled, and paraded, and set 
pickets all around the town ; Middleburgh and Nancy Pansy 
still picked up their skirts and passed by with uplifted heads 
and defiant eyes. The Baby Veterans shouted on the Court- 
house Square, ‘‘Yankee Doodle” and the “Star-spangled 
Banner ; ” Middleburgh sang on its verandas and in its par- 
lors, “ Dixie ” and the “ Bonnie Blue Flag.” Perhaps, some 
evenings Middleburgh may have stopped its own singing, and 
have stolen out on its balconies to listen to the rich chorus 
which came up from the Court-house Grove, bat if so, the 
Baby Veterans never knew it; or perhaps, the Baby Veterans 
some evenings may have strolled long the shadowed streets, 
or stretched themselves out on che grass to listen to the 
sweet voices which floated down from the embowered veran- 
das in the Judge’s yard ; if so, Middleburgh never guessed it. 

Nancy Pansy used to sing sweetly, and she would often 
sing whilst her sister played for her. 

The strict regulations established by the soldiers pre- 
vented any letters from going or coming unopened, and 
Middleburgh never would tolerate that. So the only mail 
which passed through the office was that which the Baby 
Veterans received or sent. As stated, Nancy Pansy’s 


8o 


NANCY PANSY." 


mother, by the old doctors advice and for reasons good 
to her and her friends, still kept the post-office, under a 
sort of surveillance, yet the intercourse with the soldiers 
was strictly official ; the letters were received or were deliv- 
ered by the postmistress in silence, or if the Baby Veterans 
asked a question it was generally replied to by a haughty 
bow, or an ungracious “ No.” 

One mail day Mrs. Seddon was ill, so Nancy Pansy’s sis- 
ter Ellen had to go to open the mail, and Nancy Pansy went 
with her, taking Harry along, “ to take care of them.” 

It happened that Tom Adams and a friend came in to ask 
for their letters. Nancy Pansy’s sister was standing at the 
table arranging the mail, and Nancy Pansy was sitting up on 
the table by her, holding the battered but cherished Harry in 
her lap. The young officer stiffened up as he saw who was 
before him. 

“ Are there any letters for Lieutenant Adams ? ” he asked, 
in a very formal and stately manner. 

There was no reply or motion to show that he had been 
heard, except that Nancy Pansy’s sister began to go over the 
letters again from the beginning of the A’s. Suddenly Nancy 
Pansy, who was watching her, saw one, and exclaiming, “ Oh ! 
there’s one ! ” seized it, and slipped down from the table to 
give it to its owner, proud to show that she could read writ- 
ing. Before she had reached the window, however, her sis- 
ter caught her quickly, and taking the letter from her, slowly 
advanced and handed it to the young soldier; then turning 


NANCY PANSY: 


8i 


quietly away, she took out her handkerchief and wiped her 
hand very hard where it had touched the letter, as if it had 
been soiled. The young officer strode 'out of the door with 
a red face and an angry step, and that evening the story of 
the way the little rebel wiped her hands after touching Tom 
Adams’s letter was all over camp. 


IV. 


A FTER this it was pretty well understood that the Baby 
Veterans and Middleburgh were at war. The regu- 
lations were more strictly enforced than ever before, 
and for a while it looked as if it was going to be as bad as it 
was when the other regiment was there. Old Limpid, the 
old doctor’s man, was caught one night with some letters on 
his person, several of them addressed to “ Captain Harry 
Hunter, Army of Northern Virginia,” etc., and was some- 
what severely dealt with, though, perhaps fortunately for him 
and his master, the letters, one of which was in a feminine 
hand, whilst abusive of the soldiers, did not contain any in- 
formation which justified very severe measures, and after a 
warning he was set free again. 

Nancy Pansy’s sister Ellen was enraged next day to re- 
ceive again her letter from a corporal’s guard, indorsed with 
an official stamp, “ Returned by order,” etc. She actually 
cried about it. 

Nancy Pansy had written a letter to Harry, too — not her 
own Harry, but the old doctor’s — and hers came back also ; 
but she did not cry about it, for she had forgotten to tell 
Harry that she had a kitten. 


“NANCY PANSY. 


83 


Still it was very bad ; for after that even the old doctor 
was once more subjected to the strict regulations which had 
existed before the Baby Veterans came, and he could no 
longer drive in and out at will, as he and Nancy Pansy had 
been doing since the regiment arrived. 

It was not, however, long after this that Nancy Pansy had 
quite an adventure. She and Harry had been with the old 
doctor, and the old doctor had to go and see some children 
with the measles, so, as Harry had never had measles, he 
sent her and Nancy Pansy back; but Nancy Pansy had found 
an old cigar-box, which was a treasure, and would have made 
a splendid cradle for Harry, except that it was so short that 
when Harry’s legs were put into it, her head and shoulders 
stuck up, and when her body was in it, her legs hung out. 
Still, if it would not do for a cradle, she had got a piece 
of string, and it would do for a carriage. So she was com- 
ing home very cheerfully, thinking of the way Harry would 
enjoy her ride down the walk. 

It was just at this time that Tom Adams, feeling thor- 
oughly bored with his surroundings, left camp and sauntered 
up the street alone, planning how he could get his company 
ordered once more to the front. He could not stand this 
life any longer. As he strolled along the walk the sound of 
the cheerful voices of girls behind the magnolias and rose 
bowers came to him, and a wave of homesickness swept over 
him as he thought of his sisters and little nieces away up 
North. 


8 4 


NANCY PANSY." 


Suddenly, as he turned a corner, he saw a small figure 
walking slowly along before him ; the great straw hat on the 
back of her head almost concealed the little body, but her 
sunny hair was peeping down below the broad brim, and 
Adams knew the child. 

She carried under her arm an old cigar-box, out of one 
end of which peeped the head and shoulders of an old doll, 
the feet of which stuck out of the other end. A string hung 
from the box, and trailed behind her on the pathway. She 
appeared to be very busy about something, and to be per- 
fectly happy, for as she walked along she was singing out of 
her content a wordless little song of her heart, “Tra-la-la, 
tra-la-la.” 

The young officer fell into the same gait with the child, 
and instinctively trod softly to keep from disturbing her. 
Just then, however, a burly fellow named Griff O’Meara, who 
had belonged to one of the companies which preceded them, 
and had been transferred to Adams’s company, came down a 
side street, and turned into the walkway just behind the little 
maid. He seemed to be tipsy. The trailing string caught 
his eye, and he tipped forward and tried to step on it. 
Adams did not take in what the fellow was trying to do until 
he attempted it the second time. Then he called to him, but 
it was too late ; he had stepped on the cord, and jerked the 
box, doll and all, from the child’s arm. The doll fell, face 
down, on a stone and broke to pieces. The man gave a 
great laugh, as the little girl turned, with a cry of anguish, 


NANCY PANSY: 


85 


and stooping, began to pick up the fragments, weeping in a 
low, pitiful way. In a second Adams sprang forward, and 
struck the fellow a blow between the eyes which sent him 
staggering off the sidewalk, down in the road, flat on his 
back. He rose with an oath, but Adams struck him a 
second blow which laid him out again, and the fellow, find- 
ing him to be an officer, was glad to slink off. Adams then 
turned to the child, whose tears, which had dried for a 
moment in her alarm at the fight, now began to flow again 
over her doll. 

“ Her pretty head’s all broke ! Oh — oh — oh ! ” she 
sobbed, trying vainly to get the pieces to fit into something 
like a face. 

The young officer sat down on the ground by her. 
“ Never mind, sissy,” he said, soothingly, “let me see if I can 
help you.” 

She confidingly handed him the fragments, whilst she 
tried to stifle her sobs, and wiped her eyes with her little 
pinafore. 

“Can you do it?” she asked, dolefully, behind her pina- 
fore. 

“ I hope so. What’s your name?” 

“ Nancy Pansy, and my dolly’s named Harry.” 

“ Harry!” Tom looked at the doll’s dress and the frag- 
ments of face, which certainly were not masculine. 

“Yes, Harry Hunter. He’s my sweetheart,” she looked 
at him to see that he understood her. 


86 


NANCY PANSY: 


“Ah 1” 

“ And sister’s,” she nodded, confidently. 

“Yes, I see. Where is he?” 

“ He’s a captain now. Hes gone away — away.” She 
waved her hand in a wide sweep to give an idea of the great 
distance it was. “ He’s in the army.” 

“Come along with me,” said Tom; “let’s see what we 
can do.” He gathered up all the broken pieces in his hand- 
kerchief, and set out in the direction from which he had 
come, Nancy Pansy at his side. She slipped her little hand 
confidingly into his. 

“You knocked that bad man down for me, didn’t you?” 
she said, looking up into his face. Tom had not felt until 
then what a hero he had been. 

“Yes,” he said, quite graciously. The little warm fingers 
worked themselves yet further into his palm. 

At the corner they turned up the street toward the Court- 
house Square, and in a few minutes were in camp. At the 
sight of the child with Adams the whole camp turned out 
pell-mell, as if the “ long-roll ” had beat. 

At first Nancy Pansy was a little shy, there was so much 
excitement, and she clung tightly to Tom Adams’s hand. 
She soon found, however, that they were all friendly. 

Tom conducted her to his tent, where she was placed in 
a great chair, with a horse-cover over it, as a sort of throne. 
The story of O’Meara’s act excited so much indignation 
that Tom felt it necessary to explain fully '-he punishment 
he had given him. 


NANCY PANSY. 


87 


Nancy Pansy, feeling that she had an interest in the 
matter, suddenly took up the narrative. 

“Yes, he jus’ knocked him down,” she said, with the 
most charming confidence, to her admiring audience, her 
pink cheeks glowing and her great eyes lighting up at the 
recital, as she illustrated Tom’s act with a most expressive 
gesture of her by no means clean little fist. 

The soldiers about her burst into a roar of delighted 
laughter, and made her tell them again and again how it 
was done, each time renewing their applause over the ’cute 
way in which she imitated Tom’s act. Then they all insisted 
on being formally introduced, so Nancy Pansy was stood 
upon the table, and the men came by in line, one by one, 
and were presented to her. It was a regular levee. 

Presently she said she must go home, so she was taken 
down ; but before she was allowed to leave, she was invited 
to go through the camp, each man insisting that she should 
visit his tent. She made, therefore, a complete tour, and in 
every tent some souvenir was pressed upon her, or she was 
begged to take her choice of its contents. Thus, before she 
had gone far, she had her arms full of things, and a string 
of men were following her bearing the articles she had hon- 
ored them by accepting. There were little looking-glasses, 
pin-cushions, pairs of scissors, pictures, razors, bits of gold- 
lace, cigar-holders, scarf-pins, and many other things. 

When she left camp she was quite piled up with things, 
whilst Tom Adams, who acted as her escort, marched behind 


88 


“NANCY PANSY.” 


her with a large basketful besides. She did not have room 
to take Harry, so she left her behind, on the assurance of 
Tom that she should be mended, and on the engagement of 
the entire company to take care of her. The soldiers fol- 
lowed her to the edge of the camp, and exacted from her a 
promise to come again next day, which she agreed to do if 
her mother would let her. And when she was out of sight, 
the whole command held a council of war over the fragments 
of Harry. 

When Adams reached the Judge’s gate he made a negro 
who was passing take the basket in, thinking it better not to 
go himself up to the house. He said good-by, and Nancy 
Pansy started up the walk, whilst he waited at the gate. 
Suddenly she turned and came back. 

“ Good-by!” she said, standing on tiptoe, and putting up 
her little face to be kissed. 

The young officer stooped over the gate and kissed her. 

“Good-by! Come again to-morrow.” 

“Yes, if mamma will let me.” And she tripped away 
with her armful of presents. 

Tom Adams remained leaning on the gate. He was 
thinking of his home far away. Suddenly he was aroused by 
hearing the astonished exclamations in the house as Nancy 
Pansy entered. He felt sure that they were insisting that 
the things should be sent back, and fearing that he might be 
seen, he left the spot and went slowly back to camp, where 
he found the soldiers still in a state of pleasurable excite- 


NANCY PANSY.' 


89 


ment over Nancy Pansy’s visit. A collection was taken up 
for a purpose which appeared to interest everybody, and a 
cap nearly full of money was delivered to Tom Adams, with 
as many directions as to what he was to do with it as though 
it were to get a memorial for the Commander-in-chief. Tom 
said he had already determined to do the very same thing 
himself; still, if the company wished to “go in” with him, 
they could do it; so he agreed to take the money. 


V. 


O N the day following Nancy Pansy's visit to the camp 
of the Baby Veterans, Adams took to the post-office 
a bundle addressed to “ Nancy Pansy,” and a letter 
addressed to a friend of his who was in Washington. The 
bundle contained “ Harry,” as fully restored as her shattered 
state would admit of; the letter contained a draft and a 
commission, the importance of which latter Captain Adams 
had put in the very strongest light. 

He held his head very high as he dropped his letter into 
the box, for over the table bent the slender figure of the 
little dark-eyed postmistress, who had wiped her dainty 
fingers so carefully after handling his letter. Perched near 
her on the table, just as she had been that day, with her 
tangled hair all over her face, was Nancy Pansy. She was, 
as usual, very busy over something ; but, hearing a step, she 
glanced up. 

“ Oh, there's Tom Adams ! ” she exclaimed ; and, turning 
over on her face, she slipped down from the table and ran 
up to him, putting up her face to be kissed, just as she 
always did to the old doctor. 

Adams stooped over and kissed her, though, as he did 


SHE RAN UP TO HIM, PUTTING UP HER FACE TO BE KISSED. 

















1 






























































- 


1 

! 

































































































































































NANCY PANSY. 


93 


so, he heard her sister turn around, and he felt as if she 
might be going to shoot him in the back. He straightened 
up with defiance in his heart. She was facing him ; but 
what was his astonishment when she advanced, and with a 
little smile on her lovely face, said : 

“ Captain Adams, I am Miss Seddon. My mother has 
desired me to thank you in her name, and in all our names, 
for your act of protection to my little sister on yesterday.” 

“Yes,” said Nancy Pansy; “he jus’ knocked that bad 
man down,” and she gave her little head a nod of satisfac- 
tion to one side. 

The young officer blushed to his eyes. He was prepared 
for an attack, but not for such a flank movement. He stam- 
mered something about not having done anything at all 
worthy of thanks, and fell back behind Harry, whom he sud- 
denly pulled out and placed in Nancy Pansy’s hands. It all 
ended in an invitation from Mrs. Seddon, through Nancy 
Pansy and her pretty sister, to come up to the house and be 
thanked, which he accepted. 

After this the Baby Veterans and Middleburgh came 
to understand each other a good deal better than before. 
Instead of remaining in their camp or marching up and 
down the streets, with arrogance or defiance stamped on 
every face and speaking from every figure, the Baby Vet- 
erans took to loafing about town in off-duty hours, hang- 
ing over the gates, or sauntering in the autumn twilight 
up and down the quiet walks. They and Middleburgh 


94 


NANCY PANSY:' 


still recognized that there was a broad ground, on which 
neither could trespass. The Baby Veterans still sang “The 
Star-spangled Banner” in the Court-house Grove, and 
Middleburgh still sang “Dixie” and the “Bonnie Blue 
Flag ” behind her rose trellises ; but there was no more 
gathering up of skirts, and disdainful wiping of hands after 
handling letters ; and the old doctor was allowed to go 
jogging about on his rounds, with Nancy Pansy and the 
scarred Harry at his side, as unmolested as if the Baby 
Veterans had never pitched their tents on the Court-house 
Square. It is barely possible that even the rigid invest- 
ment of the town relaxed a little as the autumn changed 
into winter, for once or twice old Limpid disappeared for 
several days, as he used to do before his arrest, and Nancy 
Pansy’s pretty sister used to get letters from Harry, who 
was now a major. Nancy Pansy heard whispers of Harry’s 
coming before long, and even of the whole army’s coming. 
Somehow a rumor of this must have reached the authori- 
ties, though Nancy Pansy never breathed a word of it; for 
an officer was sent down to investigate the matter and 
report immediately. 

Just as he arrived he received secret word from some one 
that a rebel officer was actually in Middleburgh. 

That afternoon Nancy Pansy was playing in the bottom 
of the yard when a lot of soldiers came along the street, 
and before them rode a strange, cross-looking man with a 
beard. Tom Adams was marching with the soldiers, and 


NANCY PANSY: 


95 


he did not look at all pleased. They stopped at the old 
doctor’s gate, and the strange man trotted up to her place 
and asked Nancy Pansy if she knew Captain Harry Hunter. 

“Yes, indeed,” said Nancy Pansy, going up to the fence 
and poking her little rosy face over it ; “ Harry’s a major 
now.” 

“ Ah ! Harry’s a major now, is he ? ” said the strange 
man. 

Haney Pansy went on to tell him how her Harry was 
named after the other Harry, and how she was all broken 
now ; but the officer was intent on something else. 

“Where is Harry now?” he asked her. 

“In the house,” and she waved her hand toward the 
old doctor’s house behind her. 

“ So, so,” said the officer, and went back to Tom Adams, 
who looked annoyed, and said : 

“ I don’t believe it; there’s some mistake.” 

At this the strange man got angry and said : “ Lieuten- 
ant Adams, if you don’t want the rebel caught, you can go 
back to camp.” 

My! how angry Tom was ! His face got perfectly white, 
and he said : “ Major Black, you are my superior, or you 
wouldn’t dare to speak so to me. I have nothing to say 
now, but some day I’ll out-rank you.” 

Nancy Pansy did not know what they were talking 
about, but she did not like the strange man at all ; so 
when he asked her: “Won’t you show me where Harry 


9 6 


NANCY PANSY:* 


is?” at first she said “No,” and then “Yes, if you won't 
hurt him.” 

“ No, indeed,” said the man. As Tom Adams was there 
she was not afraid ; so she went outside the gate and on 
into the old doctors yard, followed by the soldiers and Tom 
Adams, who still looked angry, and told her she’d better run 
home. Some of the soldiers went around behind the house. 

“ Where is he ? ” the strange gentleman asked. 

“Asleep up-stairs in the company-room,” said Nancy 
Pansy in a whisper. “You mustn’t make any noise.” 

She opened the door and they entered the house, Nancy 
Pansy on tiptoe and the others stepping softly. She was 
surprised to see the strange man draw a pistol ; but she 
was used to seeing pistols, so, though Tom Adams told her 
again to run home, she stayed there. 

“ Which is the company-room ? ” asked the strange man. 

She pointed to the door at the head of the steps. 
“ That’s it.” 

He turned to the soldiers. 

“ Come ahead, men,” he said, in a low voice, and ran 
lightly up the stairs, looking very fierce. When he reached 
the door he seized the knob and dashed into the room. 

Then Nancy Pansy heard him say some naughty words, 
and she ran up the stairs to see what was the matter. 

They were all standing around the big bed on which 
she had laid Harry an hour before, with her head on a 
pillow ; but a jerk of the counterpane had thrown Harry 


NANCY PANSY: 


97 


over on her face, and her broken neck and ear looked very 
bad. 

41 Oh, you’ve waked her up!” cried Nancy Pansy, rush- 
ing forward, and turning the doll over. 

The strange man stamped out of the room, looking per- 
fectly furious, and the soldiers all laughed. Tom Adams 
looked pleased. 


7 


VI. 


W HEN Tom Adams next called at the Judge’s, he 
found the atmosphere much cooler within the 
house than it was outside. He had been waiting 
alone in the drawing-room for some time when Nancy Pansy 
entered. She came in very slowly, and instead of running 
immediately up to him and greeting him as she usually did, 
she seated herself on the edge of a chair and looked at him 
with manifest suspicion. He stretched out his hand to her. 
“ Come over, Nancy Pansy, and sit on my knee.” 

Nancy Pansy shook her head. 

“ My sister don’t like you,” she said slowly, eying him 
askance. 

“ Ah ! ” He let his hand fall on the arm of the chair. 
“No; and I don’t, either,” said Nancy Pansy, more 
confidently. 

“Why doesn’t she like me ?” asked Tom Adams. 

“ Because you are so mean. She says you are just like 
all the rest of ’em ; ” and, pleased at her visitor’s interest, 
Nancy Pansy wriggled herself higher up on her chair, pre- 
pared to give him further details. 

“We don’t like you at all,” said the child, half confi- 


NANCY .PANSY. 


99 


dentially and half defiantly. “We like our side; we like 
Confederates .” Tom Adams smiled. “We like Harry; we 
don't like you.” 

She looked as defiant as possible, and just then a step 
was heard in the hall, approaching very slowly, and Nancy 
Pansy's sister appeared in the doorway. She was dressed 
in white, and she carried her head even higher than usual. 

The visitor rose. He thought he had never seen her 
look so pretty. 

“ Good-evening,” he said. 

She bowed “ Good-evening,” very slowly, and took a seat 
on a straight-backed chair in a corner of the room, ignoring 
the chair which Adams offered her. 

“ I have not seen you for some time,” he began. 

“No; I suppose you have been busy searching people's 
houses,” she said. 

Tom Adams flushed a little. 

“ I carry out my orders,” he said. “ These I must 
enforce.” 

“Ah !” 

Nancy Pansy did not just understand it all, but she 
saw there was a battle going on, and she at once aligned 
herself with her side, and going over, stood by her sister's 
chair, and looked defiance at the enemy. 

“ Well, we shall hardly agree about this, so we won't 
discuss it,” said Tom Adams. "I did not come to talk 
about this, but to see you, and to get you to sing for me." 


IOO 


NANCY PANSY. 


Refusal spoke so plainly in her face that he added : “ Or, 
if you won’t sing, to get Nancy Pansy to sing for me.” 

“/won’t sing for you,” declared Nancy Pansy, promptly 
and decisively. 

“ What incorrigible rebels all of you are !” said Tom 
Adams, smiling. He was once more at his ease, and he 
pulled his chair up nearer Nancy Pansy’s sister, and caught 
Nancy Pansy by the hand. She was just trying to pull 
away, when there were steps on the walk outside — the 
regular tramp, tramp of soldiers marching in some num- 
bers. They came up to the house, and some order was 
given in a low tone. Both Adams and Nancy Pansy’s 
sister sprang to their feet. 

“What can it mean ?” asked Nancy Pansy’s sister, more 
to herself than to Adams. 

He went into the hall just as there was a loud rap at 
the front door. 

“What is it?” he asked the lieutenant who stood there. 

“ Some one has slipped through the lines, and is in this 
house,” he said. 

Nancy Pansy’s sister stepped out into the hall. 

“There is no one here,” she said. She looked at Tom 
Adams. “ I give my word there is no one in the house 
except my mother, ourselves, and the servants.” She met 
Tom Adams’s gaze frankly as he looked into her eyes. 

“There is no one here, Hector,” he said, turning to the 
officer 


NANCY PANSY. 


IOI 


44 This is a serious matter,” began the other, hesitatingly. 
“ We have good grounds to believe ” 

44 I will be responsible,” said Tom Adams, firmly. 44 I 
have been here some time, and there is no one here.” He 
took the officer aside and talked to him a moment. 

14 All right,” said he, as he went down the steps, 44 as you 
are so positive.” 

44 1 am,” said Tom. 

The soldiers marched down the walk, out of the gate, 
and around the corner. Just as the sound of their foot- 
steps died away on the soft road, Tom Adams turned and 
faced Nancy Pansy’s sister. She was leaning against a pil- 
lar, looking down, and a little moonlight sifted through the 
rose-bushes and fell on her neck. Nancy Pansy had gone 
into the house. 44 1 am sorry I said what I did in the parlor 
just now.” She looked up at him. 

“Oh!” said Tom Adams, and moved his hand a little. 
“ I — ” he began ; but just then there was a sudden scamper 
in the hall, and Nancy Pansy, with flying hair and dancing 
eyes, came rushing out on the portico. 

44 Oh, sister!” she panted. 44 Harry’s come; he’s in 
mamma’s room ! ” 

Nancy Pansy’s sister turned deadly white. 44 Oh, Nancy 
Pansy ! ” she gasped, placing her hand over her mouth. 

Nancy Pansy burst into tears, and buried her face in 
her sister’s dress. She had not seen Tom Adams; she 
thought he had gone. 


102 


NANCY PANSY; 


“ I did not know it,” said Nancy Pansy’s sister, turning 
and facing Tom Adams’s stern gaze. 

“ I believe you,” he said, slowly. He felt at his side ; 
but he was in a fatigue suit, and had no arms. Without fin* 
ishing his sentence he sprang over the railing, and with along, 
swift stride. went down the yard. She dimly saw him as he 
' sprang over the fence, and heard him call, “ Oh, Hector !” 

As he did so, she rushed into the house. “ Fly ! they 
are coming ! ” she cried, bursting into her mother’s room. 
“ Oh, Harry, they are coming ! ” she cried, rushing up to a 
handsome young fellow, who sprang to his feet as she 
entered, and went forward to meet her. 

The young man took her hand and drew her to him. 
“Well,” he said, looking down into her eyes, and drawing a 
long breath. 

Nancy Pansy’s sister put her face on his shoulder and 
began to cry, and Nancy Pansy rushed into her mother’s 
arms and cried too. 

Ten minutes later soldiers came in both at the front 
and back doors. Mrs. Seddon met her visitors in the hall. 
Nancy Pansy’s sister was on one side, and Nancy Pansy 
on the other. 

Tom Adams was in command. He removed his hat, 
but said, gravely : “ I must arrest the young rebel officer 
who is here.” 

Nancy Pansy made a movement ; but her mother tight- 
ened her clasp of her hand. 


NANCY PANSY: 


103 


“ Yes,” she said, bowing. That was all. 

Guards were left at the doors, and soldiers went through 
the house. The search was thorough, but the game had 
escaped. They were coming down the steps when some 
one said : 

“ We must search the shrubbery; he will be there.” 

"No; he is at his father’s — the old doctors,” said 
Adams. 

It was said in an undertone, but Mrs. Seddon’s face 
whitened; Nancy Pansy caught it, too. She clutched her 
mother’s gown. 

" Oh, mamma ! you hear what he says ? ” 

Her mother stooped and whispered to her. 

"Yes, yes,” nodded Nancy Pansy. She ran to the door, 
and poking her little head out, looked up and down the por- 
tico, calling, " Kitty, kitty ! ” 

The sentry who was standing there holding his gun 
moved a little, and, leaning out, peered into the dusk. 

" ’Tain’t out here,” he said, in a friendly tone. 

Nancy Pansy slipped past him, and went down the steps 
and around the portico, still calling, Kitty ! Kitty ! Kitty !” 

" Who goes there ? ” called a soldier, as he saw some- 
thing move over near the old doctor’s fence ; but when he 
heard a childish voice call, “ Kitty ! Kitty ! ” he dropped 
his gun again with a laugh. "’Tain’t nobody but that 
little gal, Nancy Pansy ; blest if I wa’n’t about to shoot 


104 


NANCY PANSY: 


The next instant Nancy Pansy had slipped through her 
little hole in the fence, through which she had so often 
gone, and was in the old doctors yard ; and when, five min- 
utes afterward, Tom Adams marched his men up the walk 
and surrounded and entered the house, Nancy Pansy, her 
broken doll in her arms, was sitting demurely on the edge 
of a large chair, looking at him with great, wide-open, danc- 
ing eyes. A little princess could not have been grander, 
and if she had hidden Harry Hunter behind her chair, she 
could not have shown more plainly that she had given 
him warning. 


VII. 


A LL Middleburgh knew next day how Nancy Pansy 
had saved Harry Hunter, and it was still talking 
about it, when it was one morning astonished by 
the news that old Dr. Hunter had been arrested in the 
night by the soldiers, who had come down from Washing- 
ton, and had been carried off somewhere. There had not 
been such excitement since the Middleburgh Artillery had 
marched away to the war. The old doctor was sacred. 
Why, to carry him off, and stop his old buggy rattling 
about the streets, was, in Middleburgh’s eyes, like stopping 
the chariot of the sun, or turning the stars out of their 
courses. Why did they not arrest Nancy Pansy too ? 
asked Middleburgh. Nancy Pansy cried all day, and many 
times after, whenever she thought about it. She went to 
Tom Adams’s camp and begged him to bring her old doc- 
tor back, and Tom Adams said as he had not had him 
arrested he could not tell what he could do, but he would 
do all he could. Then she wrote the old doctor a letter. 
However, all Middleburgh would not accept Tom Adams’s 
statement as Nancy Pansy did, and instead of holding him 
as a favorite, it used to speak of him as “ That Tom 


io6 


“NANCY PANSY, 


Adams.” Every old woman in Middleburgh declared she 
was worse than she had been in ten years, and old Mrs. 
Hippin took to her crutch, which she had not used in twelve 
months, and told Nancy Pansy’s sister she would die in a 
week unless she could hear the old doctor’s buggy rattle 
again. But when the fever broke out in the little low 
houses down on the river, things began to look very seri- 
ous. The surgeon from the camp went to see the patients, 
but they died, and more were taken ill. When a number 
of other cases occurred in the town itself, all of the most 
malignant type, the surgeon admitted that it was a form 
of fever with which he was not familiar. There had never 
been such an epidemic in Middleburgh before, and Middle 
burgh said that it was all due to the old doctor’s absence. 

One day Nancy Pansy went to the camp, to ask about the 
old doctor, and saw a man sitting astride of a fence rail which 
was laid on two posts high up from the ground. He had a 
stone tied to each foot, and he was groaning. She looked up 
at him, and saw that it was the man who had broken her 
doll. She was about to run away, but he groaned so she 
thought he must be in great pain, and that always hurt her ; 
so she went closer, and asked him what was the matter. She 
did not understand just what he said, but it was something 
about the weight on his feet ; so she first tried to untie 
the strings which held the stones, and then, as there was a 
barrel standing by, she pushed at it until she got it up close 
under him, and told him to rest his feet on that, whilst she 


NANCY PANSY. 


107 


ran home and asked her mamma to lend her her scissors. 
In pushing the barrel she broke Harrys head in pieces ; 
but she was so busy she did not mind it then. Just as she 
got the barrel in place some one called her, and turning 
around she saw a sentinel ; he told her to go away, and he 
kicked the barrel from under the man and let the stones 
drop down and jerk his ankles again. Nancy Pansy began 
to cry, and ran off up to Tom Adams’s tent and told him 
all about it, and how the poor man was groaning Tom 
Adams tried to explain that this man had got drunk, and 
that he was a bad man, and was the same one who had 
broken her doll. It had no effect. “ Oh, but it hurts him 
so bad ! ” said Nancy Pansy, and she cried until Tom 
Adams called a man and told him he might go and let 
O’Meara down, and tell him that the little girl had begged 
him off this time. Nancy Pansy, however, ran herself, and 
called to him that Tom Adams said he might get down. 
When he was on the ground, he walked up to her and said : 

“ May the Holy Virgin kape you ! Griff O’Meara’ll 
never forgit you.” 

A few days after that, Nancy Pansy complained of head- 
ache, and her mother kept her in the house. That even- 
ing her face was flushed, and she had a fever ; so her 
mother put her to bed and sat by her. She went to sleep, 
but waked in the night, talking very fast. She had a burn- 
ing fever, and was quite out of her head. Mrs. Seddon 
sent for the surgeon next morning, and he came and stayed 


io8 


NANCY PANSY: 


some time. When he returned to camp he went to Tom 
Adams’s tent. He looked so grave as he came in that 
Adams asked quickly : 

- Any fresh cases ? ” 

- Not in camp.” He sat down. 

-Where?” 

- That little girl — Nancy Pansy.” 

Tom Adams’s face turned whiter than it had ever turned 
in battle. 

“ Is she ill ? ” 

- Desperately.” 

Tom Adams sprang to his feet. 

- How long — how long can she hold out?” he asked, in 
a broken voice. 

- Twenty-four hours, perhaps,” said the surgeon. 

Tom Adams put on his cap and left the tent. Five 
minutes later he was in the hall at the Judge’s. Just as 
he entered, Nancy Pansy’s sister came quickly out of a 
door. She had been crying. 

- How is she ? I have just this instant heard of it,” 
said Tom, with real grief in his voice. 

She put her handkerchief to her eyes. 

- So ill,” she sobbed. 

-Can I see her ?” asked Tom, gently. 

- Yes ; it won’t hurt her.” 

When Tom Adams entered the room he was so shocked 
that he stopped still. Mrs. Seddon bent over the bed with 


NANCY PANSY.” 


109 

her face pale and worn, and in the bed lay Nancy Pansy, 
so changed that Tom Adams never would have known 
her. She had fallen off so in that short time that he 
would not have recognized her. Her face was perfectly 
white, except two bright red spots on her cheeks. She 
was drawing short, quick breaths, and was talking all the 
time very fast. No one could understand just what she 
was saying, but a good deal of it was about Harry and 
the old doctor. Tom bent over her, but she did not know 
him ; she just went on talking faster than ever. 

“ Nancy Pansy, don’t you know Tom Adams?” her 
mother asked her, in a soothing voice. She had never 
called the young man so before, and he felt that it gave 
him a place with Nancy Pansy; but the child did not know 
him ; she said something about not having any Harry. 

“ She is growing weaker,” said her mother. 

Tom Adams leaned over and kissed the child, and left 
the room. 

As he came down the steps he met Griff O’Meara, who 
asked how the ‘Tittle gurl” was, “bless her sowl ! ” When 
he told him, Griff turned away and wiped his eyes with 
the back of his hand. Tom Adams told him to stay there 
and act as guard, which Griff vowed he’d do if the “ howl 
ribel army kern.” 

Ten minutes later Tom galloped out of camp with a 
paper in his pocket signed by the surgeon. In an hour he 
had covered the twelve miles of mud which lay between 


no 


NANCY PANSY: 


Middleburgh and the nearest telegraph station, and was 

sending a message to General , his commander. At 

last an answer* came. Tom Adams read it. 

“Tell him it is a matter of life and death,” he said to 
the operator. “Tell him there is no one else who under- 
stands it and can check it, and tell him it must be done 
before the afternoon train leaves, or it will be too late. 
Here, I’ll write it out.” And he did so, putting all his 
eloquence into the despatch. 

Late that night two men galloped through the mud 
and slush in the direction of Middleburgh. The younger 
one had a large box before him on his horse ; the other 
was quite an old man. Picket after picket was passed 
with a word spoken by the younger man, and they gal- 
loped on. At last they stopped at the Judge's gate, and 
sprang from their splashed and smoking horses. 

As they hurried up the walk, the guard at the steps chal- 
lenged them in a rich Irish brogue. 

“ It’s I, O’Meara. You here still ? How is she ? ” 

“’Most in the Holy Virgin’s arms,” said the Irishman. 

“ Is she alive ? ” asked both men. 

“ It’s a docther can tell that,” said the sentinel. “ They 
thought her gone an hour ago. There’s several in there,” he 
said to his captain. “ I didn’t let ’em in at firrst, but the 
young leddy said they wuz the frien’s of the little gurl, an’ I 
let ’em by a bit.” 

A minute later the old man entered the sick-room, whilst 


NANCY PANSYr 


hi 


Tom Adams stopped at the door outside. There was a gen- 
eral cry as he entered of, “ Oh, doctor ! ” 

And Mrs. Seddon called him : “ Quick, quick, doctor ! 
she’s dying ! ” 

“ She’s dead,” said one of the ladies who stood by. 

The old doctor bent over the little still white form, and 
his countenance fell. She was not breathing. With one hand 
he picked up her little white arm and felt for the pulse ; with 
the other he took a small case from his pocket. “ Brandy,” 
he said. It was quickly handed him. He poured some into a 
little syringe, and stuck it into Nancy Pansy’s arm, by turns 
holding her wrist and feeling over her heart. 

Presently he said, quietly, “ She’s living,” and both Mrs* 
Seddon and Nancy Pansy’s sister said, “ Thank God ! ” 

All night long the old doctor worked over Nancy Pansy. 
Just before dawn he said to Mrs. Seddon: “What day is 
this?” 

“ Christmas morning,” said Mrs. Seddon. 

“ Well, madam, I hope God has answered your prayers 
and given your babe back to you ; I hope the crisis is passed. 
Have you hung up her stocking?” 

“ No,” said Nancy Pansy’s mother. “ She was so — ” 
She could not say anything more. Presently she added: 
“She was all the time talking about you and Harry.” 

The old doctor rose and went out of the room. It was 
about dawn. He left the house, and went over to his own 
home. There, after some difficulty, he got in, and went to 


1 1 2 


NANCY PANSY. 


his office. His old secretary had been opened and papers 
taken out, but the old man did not seem to mind it. Pulling 
the secretary out from the wall, he touched a secret spring. 
It did not work at first, but after a while it moved, and he 
put his hand under it, and pulled out a secret drawer. In it 
were a number of small parcels carefully tied up with pieces 
of ribbon, which were now quite faded, and from one peeped 
a curl of soft brown hair, like that of a little girl. The old 
doctor laid his fingers softly on it, and his old face wore a 
gentle look. The largest bundle was wrapped in oil-silk. 
This he took out and carefully unwrapped. Inside was yet 
another wrapping of tissue paper. He put the bundle, with 
a sigh, into his overcoat pocket, and went slowly back to the 
Judge’s. Nancy Pansy was still sleeping quietly. 

The old doctor asked for a stocking, and it was brought 
him. He took the bundle from his pocket, and, unwrapping 
it, held it up. It was a beautiful doll, with yellow hair done 
up with little tucking combs such as ladies used to wear, and 
with a lovely little old tiny-flowered silk dress. 

“ She is thirty years old, madam,” he said gently to Mrs. 
Seddon, as he slipped the doll into the stocking, and hung it 
on the bed-post. “ I have kept her for thirty years, think- 
ing I could never give it to any one ; but last night I knew 
I loved Nancy Pansy enough to give it to her.” He leaned 
over and felt her pulse. “ She is sleeping well,” he said. 

Just then the door opened, and in tipped Tom Adams, 
followed by Griff O’Meara in his stocking feet, bearing a 


NANCY PANSY: 


113 

large baby-house fitted up like a perfect palace, with every 
room carpeted and furnished, and with a splendid doll sitting 
on a balcony. 

“ A Christmas gift to that blessed angel from the Baby 
Veterans, mem,” he said, as he set it down ; and then taking 
from his bulging pocket a large red-cheeked doll in a green 
frock, he placed it in the door of the house, saying, with great 
pride : “ An’ this from Griff O’Meara. Heaven bless her 
swate soul ! ” 

Just then Nancy Pansy stirred and opened her eyes. Her 
mother bent over her, and she smiled faintly. Mrs. Seddon 
slipped down on her knees. 

“Where’s my old doctor and my dolly?” she said; and 

then, presently, “ Where’s Harry and Tom Adams ? ” 

8 






“JACK AND JAKE.” 


i. 

“ T ACK AND JAKE.” This is what they used to be 
called. Their names were always coupled together. 
Wherever you saw one, you were very apt to see the 
other — Jack, slender, with yellow hair, big gray eyes, and 
spirited look; and Jake, thick-set and brown, close to him, 
like his shadow, with his shining skin and white teeth. 
They were always in sight somewhere ; it might be running 
about the yard or far down on the plantation, or it might be 
climbing trees to look into birds’ nests — which they were 
forbidden to trouble — or wading in the creek, riding in the 
carts or wagons about the fields, or following the furrow, 
waiting a chance to ride a plough-horse home. 

Jake belonged to Jack. He had been given to him by 
his old master, Jack’s grandfather, when Jack was only a few 
years old, and from that time the two boys were rarely sepa« 
rated, except at night. 

Jake was a little larger than Jack, as he was somewhat 
older, but Jack was the more active. Jake was dull ; some 


Ii6 


'JACK AND JAKE. 


people on the plantation said he did not have good sense ; 
but they rarely ventured to say so twice to Jack. Jack said 
he had more sense than any man on the place. At least, he 
idolized Jack. 

At times the people commented on the white boy being 
so much with the black ; but Jack’s father said it was as 
natural for them to run together as for two calves — a black 
one and a white one — when they were turned out together ; 
that he had played with Uncle Ralph, the butler, when they 
were boys, and had taught the latter as much badness as 
he had him. 

So the two boys grew up together as “ Jack and Jake,” 
forming a friendship which prevented either of them ever 
knowing that Jake was a slave, and brought them up as 
friends rather than as master and servant. 

If there was any difference, the boys thought it was 
rather in favor of Jake ; for Jack had to go to school, and sit 
for some hours every morning “ saying lessons ” to his aunt, 
and had to loo£ out (sometimes) for his clothes, while Jake 
just lounged around outside the school-room door, and could 
do as he pleased, for he was sure to get Jack’s suit as soon as 
it had become too much worn for Jack. 

The games they used to play were surprising. Jack 
always knew of some interesting thing they could “ make 
’tence ” (that is, pretence) that they were doing. They 
could be fishers and trappers, of course ; for there was the 
creek winding down the meadow, in and out among the 


‘JACK AND JAKE." 


ii 7 


heavy willows on its banks ; and in the holes under the 
fences and by the shelving rocks, where the water was blue 
and deep, there were shining minnows, and even little perch; 
and they could be lost on rafts, for there was the pond, and 
with their trousers rolled up to their thighs they could get 
on planks and pole themselves about. 

But the best fun of all was “ Injins.” Goodness! how 
much fun there was in Injins ! There were bows and 
arrows, and tomahawks, and wigwams, and fires in the 
woods, and painted faces, and creeping-ups, and scalpings, 
and stealing horses, and hot pursuits, and hidings, and cap- 
tures, and bringing the horses back, and the full revenge 
and triumph that are dear to boys’ hearts. Injins was, of 
all plays, the best. There was a dear old wonderful fellow 
named Leatherstocking, who was the greatest “Injin ’’-hunter 
in the world. Jack knew all about him. He had a book 
with him in it, and he read it and told Jake; and so they 
played Injins whenever they wanted real fun. It was a 
beautiful place for Injins ; the hills rolled, the creeks wound 
in and out among the willows, and ran through thickets into 
the little river, and the woods surrounded the plantation on 
all sides, and stretched across the river to the Mont Air 
place, so that the boys could cross over and play on the 
other side of the thick woods. 

When the war came, Jack was almost a big boy. He 
thought he was quite one. He was ten years old, and grew 
old two years at a time. His father went off with the army, 


Ii8 


‘JACK AND JAKEr 


and left his mother at home to take care of the plantation 
and the children. That included Ancy and wee Martha ; 
not Jack, of course. So far from leaving any one to take 
care of Jack, he left Jack to take care of his mother. The 
morning he went away he called Jack to him and had a talk 
with him. He told him he wanted him to mind his mother, 
and look out for her, to help her and save her trouble, to 
take care of her and comfort her, and defend her always like 
a man. Jack was standing right in front of him, and when 
the talk began he was fidgety, because he was in a great 
hurry to go to the stable and ride his father’s horse Warrior 
to the house ; but his father had never talked to him so 
before, and as he proceeded, Jack became grave, and when 
his father took his hand, and, looking him quietly in the 
eyes, said, “Will you, my son?” he burst out crying, and 
flung his arms around his father’s neck, and said, “Yes, 
father, I will.” 

He did not go out of the house any more then ; he left 
the horse to be brought down by Uncle Henry, the carriage- 
driver, and he sat quietly by his father, and kept his eyes 
on him, getting him anything he wanted ; and he waited on 
his mother ; and when his father went away, he kissed him, 
and said all over again that he would do what he promised. 
And when his mother locked herself in her room afterward, 
Jack sat on the front porch alone, in his father’s chair, and 
waited. And when she came out on the porch, with her 
eyes red from weeping and her face worn, he did not say 


‘JACK AND JAKE: 


1 19 


anything, but quietly went and got her a glass of water. 
His father’s talk had aged him. 

For the first two years, the war did not make much 
difference to Jack personally. It made a difference to the 
country, and to the people, and to his mother, but not to 
Jack individually, though it made a marked difference in 
him. It made him older. His father’s words never were 
forgotten. They had sobered him and steadied him. He 
had seen a good deal of the war. The troop trains passed 
up the railroad, the soldiers cheering and shouting, filling 
the cars and crowding on top of them ; the army, or parts 
of it, marched through the country by the county roads, 
camping in the woods and fields. Many soldiers stopped 
at Jack’s home, where open house was kept, and everything 
was gladly given to them. All the visitors now were sol- 
diers. Jack rode the gentlemen’s horses to water, with Jake 
behind him, if there was but one (in which case the horse 
was apt to get several waterings), or galloping after him, if 
there were more. They were hard riders, and got many 
falls, for the young officers were usually well mounted, and 
their horses were wild. But a fall was no disgrace. Jack 
remembered that his father once said to him, when a colt 
had thrown him, “ All bold riders get falls ; only those do 
not who ride tame horses.” 

All the visitors were in uniform ; all the talk was of 
war ; all thoughts were of the Confederacy. Every one was 
enthusiastic. No sacrifices were too great to be made. The 


120 


‘JACK AND JAKE: 


corn-houses were emptied into the great, covered, blue army 
wagons ; the pick of the horses and mules was given up. 
Provisions became scanty and the food plain ; coffee and tea 
disappeared ; clothes that were worn out were replaced by 
homespun. Jack dressed in the same sort of coarse, grayish 
stuff of which Jake’s clothes used to be made ; and his boots 
were made by Uncle Dick at the quarters ; but this did not 
trouble him. It was rather fun than otherwise. Boys like 
to rough it. He had come to care little for these things. 
He was getting manlier. His mother called him her pro- 
tector ; his father, when he came home, as he did once or 
twice a year, called him “ a man,” and introduced him to his 
friends as “ my son.” 

His mother began to consult him, to rely on him, to 
call on him. He used to go about with her, or go for her 
wherever she had business, however far off it might be. 

The war had been going on two years, when the enemy 
first reached Jack’s home. It was a great shock to Jack, for 
he had never doubted that the Confederates would keep them 
back. There had been a great battle some time before, and 
his father had been wounded and taken prisoner (at first he 
was reported killed). But for that, Jack said, the “ Yankees” 
would never have got there. The Union troops did not 
trouble Jack personally ; but they made a great deal of 
crouble about the place. They took all the horses and 
mules that were good for anything and put them in their 
wagons. This was a terrible blow to Jack. All his life he 


‘JACK AND JAKEr 


I 2 1 


had been brought up with the horses ; each one was his pet 
or his friend. 

After that the war seemed to be much more about Jack’s 
home than it had been before. The place was in the posses- 
sion first of one army and then of the other, and at last, one 
winter, the two armies lay not far apart, with Jack’s home 
just between them. “The Yankees” were the nearer. 
Their pickets were actually on the plantation, at the ford, 
and at the bridge over the little river into which the creek 
emptied, in the big woods. There they lay, with their camps 
over behind the hills, a mile or two farther away. At night 
the glow of their camp-fires could be seen. Jack had a 
pretty aunt who used to stay with his mother, and many 
young officers used to come over from the Confederate side 
to see her. In such cases, they usually came at night, leav- 
ing their horses, for scouting parties used to come in on 
them occasionally and stir them up. Once or twice skir- 
mishes took place in the fields beyond the creek. 

One evening a party of young officers came in and took 
supper. They had some great plan. They were quite mys- 
terious, and consulted with Jack’s mother, who was greatly 
interested in them. They appeared a little shy of talking 
before Jack ; but when his mother said he had so much judg- 
ment that he could be trusted, they talked openly in his pres- 
ence. They had a plan to go into the Federal camp that 
night and seize ’the commanding officer. They wanted to 
know all the paths. Jack could tell them. He was so 


122 


‘ JACK AND JAKE . ” 


proud. There was not a cow-path he did not know for two 
or three miles around, for he and Jake Tad hunted all over 
the country. He could tell them everything, and he did so 
with a swelling heart. They laid sheets of paper down on 
the dining-table, and he drew them plans of the roads and 
hills and big woods ; showed where the river could be waded, 
and where the ravines were. He asked his mother to let him 
go along with them, but she thought it best for him not 
to go. 

They set out at bed-time on foot, a half-dozen gay young 
fellows, laughing and boasting of what they would do, and 
Jack watched them enviously as their forms faded away in the 
night. They did not succeed in capturing the officer ; but 
they captured a number of horses and a picket at the bridge, 
and came off triumphant, with only one or two of their num- 
ber slightly wounded Shortly afterwards they came over, 
and had a great time telling their experiences. They had 
used the map Jack made for them, and had got safely beyond 
the pickets and reached the camp. There, finding the sen- 
tries on guard, they turned back, and taking the road, 
marched down on the picket, as if they had come to relieve 
them. Coming from the camp in this way, they had got 
upon the picket, when, suddenly drawing their pistols and 
poking them up against the Yankees, they forced them to 
surrender, and disarmed them. Then taking two of them 
off separately, they compelled them to give the countersign. 
Having got this, they left the prisoners under guard of two 



HE DREW THEM PLANS OF THE ROADS AND HILLS AND BIG WOODS. 































‘ JACK AND JAKE 


125 


of their number, and the rest went back to camp. With the 
countersign they passed the sentry, and went into the camp. 
Then they found that the commanding officer had gone off 
somewhere, and was not in camp that night, and there were 
so many men stirring about that they did not dare to wait. 
They determined, therefore, to capture some horses and 
return. They were looking over the lines of horses to take 
their pick when they were discovered. Each man had 
selected a horse, and was trying to get him, when the alarm 
was given, and they were fired on. They had only time to 
cut the halters when the camp began to pour out. Flinging 
themselves on the horses’ backs, they dashed out under a 
fusillade, firing right and left. They took to the road, but it 
had been picketed, and they had to dash through the men 
who held it under a fire poured into their faces. All had 
passed safely except one, whose horse had become unman- 
ageable, and had run away, flying the track and taking to the 
fields. 

He was, they agreed, the finest horse in the lot, and his 
rider had had great trouble getting him, and had lingered so 
long that he came near being captured. He had finally cut 
the halter, and had cut it too short to hold by. 

They had great fun laughing at their comrade, and the 
figure he cut as his barebacked horse dashed off into the 
darkness, with him swinging to the mane. He had shortly 
been dragged off of him in the woods, and when he appeared 
in camp next day, he looked as if he had been run through a 


126 


‘JACK AND JAKE. 


mill. His eyes were nearly scratched out of his head, and 
his uniform was torn into shreds. 

The young fellow, who still showed the marks of his bruis- 
ing, took the chaffing good-naturedly, and confessed that he 
had nearly lost his life trying to hold on to his captive. He 
had been down into the woods the next day to try and get 
his horse ; though it was the other side of the little river, 
and really within the Federal lines. But though he caught 
sight of him, it was only a glimpse. The animal was much 
too wild to be caught, and the only thing he received for his 
pains was a grazing shot from a picket, who had caught sight 
of him prowling around, and had sent a ball through his cap. 

The narration of the capture and escape made Jack wild 
with excitement. All the next day he was in a state of 
tremor, and that evening he and Jake spent a long time up 
in the barn together talking, or rather Jack talking and Jake 
listening. Jake seemed to be doubtful ; but Jack’s enthusi- 
asm carried all before him, and Jake yielded, as he nearly 
always did. 

All that evening after they got back to the house Jack 
was very quiet. It was the quiet of suppressed excitement. 
He was thinking. 

Next day, after dinner, he and Jake started out. They 
were very mysterious. Jack carried a rope that they got 
from the stable, and the old musket that he used in hunting. 
Jake carried an axe and some corn. They struck out for the 
creek as if they were going hunting in the big woods, which 


‘ JACK AND JAKE.” 


127 


they entered ; but at the creek they turned and made for 
about opposite where Jack understood his friend had been 
thrown by the wild horse that night. They had to avoid the 
pickets on the roads, so they stuck to the woods. 

At the river the first difficulty presented itself ; the bridge 
and ford were picketed. How were they to get across? It 
was over their heads in the middle. Jack could swim a little, 
but Jake could not swim a stroke. Besides, they did not 
wish to get their clothes wet, as that would betray them at 
home. Jack thought of a raft, but that would take too long 
to make ; so finally they decided to go down the stream and 
try to cross on an old tree that had fallen into the water two 
or three years before. 

The way down was quite painful, for the underbrush 
along the banks was very dense, and was matted with bram- 
bles and briers, which stuck through their clothes ; added to 
which there was a danger of “ snakes,” as Jake constantly 
insisted. But after a slow march they reached the tree. It 
lay diagonally across the stream, as it had fallen, its roots on 
the bank on their side and the branches not quite reaching 
the other bank. This was a disappointment. However, 
Jack determined to try, and if it was not too deep beyond 
the branches, then Jake could come. Accordingly, he pulled 
off his clothes, and carefully tying them up in a bundle, he 
equipped himself with a long pole and crawled out on the 
log. When he got among the branches, he fastened his 
bundle and let himself down. It was a little over his head. 


128 


‘ JACK AND JAKE. 


but he let go, and with a few vigorous strokes he reached the 
other side. The next thing to do was to get Jake over. 
Jake was still on the far side, and, with his eyes wide open, 
was declaring, vehemently, “ Nor, sir,” he “warn gwine to git 
in that deep water, over his head.” He “didn’t like water 
nohow.” Jack was in a dilemma. Jake had to be got over, 
and so had his clothes. They had an axe. They could cut 
poles if he could get back. There was nothing for it but to 
try. Accordingly he went up a little way, took a plunge, 
and, after hard pulling and much splashing and blowing, got 
back to the tree and climbed up. They were afraid the 
Yankees might see them if they worked too long on the 
river, as it was a little cleared up on the hill above, so they 
went back into the woods and set to work. Jack selected a 
young pine not too large for them to “ tote,” and they cut it 
down, and cut off two poles, which they carried down to the 
river, and finally, after much trouble, worked along the tree in 
the water, and got them stretched across from the branch 
of the fallen log to the other bank. Jake could hardly be 
persuaded to try it, but Jack offered him all his biscuit (his 
customary coin with Jake), and promised to help him, and 
finally Jake was got over, “cooning it” — by which was meant 
crawling on his hands and knees. 

The next thing was to find the horse, for Jack had deter- 
mined to capture him. This was a difficult thing to effect. 
In the first place, he might not be there at all, as he might 
have escaped or have been caught ; and the woods had to be 


‘JACK AND JAKE." 


129 


explored with due regard to the existence of the Federal 
pickets, who were posted at the roads and along the paths. 
If the pickets caught sight of them they might be shot, or 
even captured. The latter seemed much the worse fate to 
Jack, unless, indeed, the Yankees should send them to John- 
son’s Island, where his father was. In that case, however, 
what would his mother do ? It would not do to be captured. 
Jack laid out the plan of campaign. They would “beat the 
woods,” going up the stream at a sufficient distance apart, 
Jake, with the axe and corn, on the inside, and he, with the 
gun and rope, outside. Thus, if either should be seen, it 
would be he, and if he came on a soldier, he, having the gun, 
would capture him. He gave orders that no word was to be 
spoken. If any track was found notice was to be given by 
imitating a partridge ; if danger appeared, it was to be shown 
by the cat-bird’s call of “ Naik, naik.” This was the way they 
used to play “ Injins.” 

They worked their way along for an hour or two with- 
out seeing any traces, and Jake, contrary to Jack’s com- 
mand, called out to him : 

“ Oh, Jack, we ain’ gwine fine no horse down heah ; dese 
woods is too big ; he done los’. There’s a clearin’ right ahead 
here ; let’s go home.” 

There was a little field just ahead, with one old cabin in 
it ; a path ran down from it to the bridge. Jack replied in 
the cat-bird’s warning note of “ Naik, naik,” but Jake was 
tired of working his way through briers and bushes, and he 

9 


130 


‘ JACK AND JAKE; 


began to come over toward Jack, still calling to him. Sud- 
denly there was a shout just ahead; they stopped; it was 
repeated. 

“ Who dat calling?” asked Jake, in a frightened under- 
tone. 

“ Hush ! it’s a picket,” said Jack, stooping and motioning 
him back, just as a volume of white smoke with blazes in it 
seemed to burst out of the woods at the edge of the clearing, 
and the stillness was broken by the report of half a dozen 
carbines. Leaves and pieces of bark fell around them, but 
the bullets flew wide of their mark. 

“ Run, Jake ! ” shouted Jack, as he darted away ; but Jake 
had not waited for orders ; he had dropped his axe and corn, 
and was “ flying.” 

Jack soon came up with him, and they dashed along to- 
gether, thinking that perhaps the picket knew where they had 
crossed the river, and would try to cut them off. 

In their excitement they took a way farther from the river 
than that by which they had come. The woods were open, 
and there were small spaces covered with coarse grass on the 
little streams. As they ran along down a hill approaching one 
of these, they heard a sound of trampling coming towards 
them which brought them to a sudden stand-still with their 
hearts in their mouths. It must be the enemy. They were 
coming at full gallop. What a crashing they made coming 
on ! They did not have time to run, and Jack immediately 
cocked his old musket and resolved at least to fight. Just 


‘JACK AND JAKEr 


131 


then there galloped up to him, and almost over him, a mag- 
nificent bay horse without saddle or bridle. At sight of Jack 
he swerved and gave a loud snort of alarm, and then, with 
his head high in the air, and with his dilated red nostrils and 
eyes wide with fright, went dashing off into the woods. 


II. 


“ r T"'HE horse! the horse! Here he is! here he is!" 
shouted Jack, taking out after him as hard as he 
could, and calling to Jake to come on. In a minute 
or two the horse was far beyond them, and they stopped to 
listen and get his direction ; and while they were talking, 
even the sound of his trampling died away. But they had 
found him. They knew he was still there, a wild horse in 
the woods. 

In their excitement all their fear had vanished as quickly 
as it had come. Jake suggested something about being cut 
off at the tree, but Jack pooh-poohed it now. He was afire 
with excitement. How glad his mother would be ! What 
would not the soldiers say? “You didn't see him, Jake?” 
No, Jake admitted he did not, but he heard him. And Jack 
described him — two white feet, one a fore foot and one a 
hind foot, a star in his forehead, and a beautiful mane and 
tail. Jake suddenly found that he had seen him. They went 
back to the little open place in the ravine where the horse 
had been. It was a low, damp spot between very high banks, 
that a little higher — at a point where the water in rainy 
weather, running over a fallen log in the hill-side, had washed 


+ 


'JACK AND JAKE: 


*33 


out a deep hole — had become nothing but a gully, with the 
banks quite perpendicular and coming together. 

The stream was dry now except for a little water in the 
hole at the tree. Trees and bushes grew thick upon the 
banks to the very edge. Below, where it widened, the banks 
became lower, and the little flat piece between them was cov- 
ered with coarse grass, now cropped quite close. The horse 
evidently fed there. Jack sat down and thought. He looked 
all over the ground. Then he got up, and walked along the 
banks around the hole ; then he came back, and walked up 
the gully. Suddenly a light broke over his face. 

“ I’ve got it, Jake ; I’ve got it, Jake. We can trap him. 
If we get him in here, we've got him.” 

Jake was practical. “ How you gwifte ketch hoss in 
trap ? ” he asked, his idea of a trap being confined to hare 
gums. “ ’Twill take all de plank in de work to make a 
hoss-trap. Besides, how you gwine git it heah ? I ain’ gwine 
tote it.” 

“ Who asked you to ?” asked Jack. “ I’m going to trap 
him like they do tigers and lions.” 

“ I don’ know nuttin’ ’bout dem beas’es,” said Jake, dis- 
dainfully. 

“ No, you don’t,” said Jack, with fine scorn ; “ but I do.” 

He examined the banks carefully. His first idea was a 
* pitfall trap — a covering over the hole. But that would not 
do ; it might kill the horse, or at least break a leg. His eye 
fell on the tracks up to the water. His face lit up. 


* 


134 


‘ jack and jake: 


“ I’ve got it ! I’ve got it ! We’ll bait him, and then catch 
him. Where are the axe and corn you had ?” 

He turned to Jake. His mind up to that time had been 
so busy with, first, the flight, and then the horse, that he had 
not noticed that Jake did not have them. 

Jake’s countenance fell. “ I done los’ ’em,” he said, 
guiltily. 

Jack looked thunderstruck. “ Now you just go and find 
’em,” he said, hotly. 

“ I los’ ’em when dem Yankees shoot we all. I know I 
ain’ gwine back deah,” declared Jake, positively. “ I ain’ 
gwine have no Yankee shootin’ me ’bout a old hoss.” 

4 ‘ Yes, you are,” asserted Jack. “I’m going, and you’ve 
got to go, too.” Jake remained impassive. “ Never mind, 
if you don’t go I won’t play with you any more, and I won’t 
give you half my biscuit any more.” 

These were usually potent threats, but they failed now. 
“ I don’ keer ef you don’ play wid me,” said Jake, scornfully. 
“ I don’ want play so much nohow ; an’ I don’ want none 
you’ buscuit. Dee ain’ white like dee use’ to be.” 

Jack changed his key. 

“ Never mind, that was Aunt Winnie’s axe you lost. I’m 
going to tell her you lost it, and she’ll cut you all to pieces. 
I’m mighty glad I didn’t lose it.” 

This was a view of the case which Jake had not thought 
of. It was true. The Yankees might not hit him, but if 
her axe were lost, his mammy was certain to carry out her 


‘JACK AND JAKE: 


135 


accustomed threat of cutting him almost in two. Jake an- 
nounced that he would go, but first stipulated for the biggest 
half of the next biscuit, and that Jack should go before. 
They set off back through the woods toward the opening 
where they had run on the picket, Jack in the lead, and Jake 
a little behind. They had gone about a half mile, when they 
heard the sound of some one coming toward them at a rapid 
rate. 

“ Run, Jack ; heah dey come,” cried Jake, setting the 
example, and taking to his heels, with Jack behind him. 
They ran, but were evidently being overtaken, for whoever it 
was was galloping right after them as hard as he could tear. 

“ Hide in the bushes,” cried Jack, and flung himself flat 
on the ground under a thick bush. Jake did the same. They 
were just in time, for the pursuers were almost on them. 
Closer and closer they came, galloping as hard as they could, 
crashing through the branches. They must have seen them, 
for they came straight down on them. Jake began to cry, 
and Jack was trembling, for he felt sure they would be killed ; 
there must be a hundred of them. But no, they actually 
passed by. Jack found courage to take a peep. He gave a 
cry, and sprang to his feet. 

“ The horse ! it’s the horse.” Sure enough, it was the 
horse they had seen ; all this terrible trampling was nothing 
but him in the leaves, galloping back toward the spot from 
which they had frightened him. They listened until his 
long gallop died out in the distance through the woods. 


‘JACK AND JAKE: 


136 


Jake suggested their going back to look and see if he had 
gone to the “little pasture,” as they called the place; but 
Jack was bent on getting the axe, and the corn with which 
they proposed to bait him. His reference to Aunt Winnie’s 
axe prevailed, and they kept on. 

They had some difficulty in finding the place where Jake 
had dropped the things, for though they found the clearing, 
they had to be very careful how they moved around through 
the woods. They could see the picket lounging about, and 
could hear them talking distinctly. They were discussing 
whether the men they had shot at were just scouts or were 
pickets thrown out, and whether they had hit any of them. 
One said that they were cavalry, for he had seen the horses ; 
another said he knew they were infantry, for he had seen the 
men. Jack lay down, and crept along close up. 

Jack’s plan was to set a trap for the horse just at the head 
of the ravine, where the banks became very steep and high. 
He had read how Indians drove buffalo by frightening them 
till they all rushed to one point. He had seen also in a book 
of Livingston’s travels a plan of capturing animals in Africa. 
This plan he chose. He proposed to lay his bait along up to 
the gully, and to make a sort of alleyway up which the horse 
could go. At the end he would have an opening nearly but 
not quite closed by saplings inclined toward each other, and 
which would be movable, so that they might interlace. On 
either side of this he would have a high barricade. He 
believed that the horse would be led by the corn which he 


‘ JACK AND JAKE: 


'37 


would strew along into the trap, and would squeeze through 
the pliant saplings, when he would be caught between the 
high banks of the gully, and then if he attempted to get back 
through the opening, he would push the saplings together. 
He would fix two strong poles so that any attempt to push 
through would bring them into position. The horse would 
thus be in a trap formed of the high banks and the barricade. 
They set to work and cut poles all the evening ; but it got 
late before they got enough for the barricade, and they had 
to go home. Before leaving, however, Jack dragged some of 
the poles up, and laid his corn along leading up to the gully 
to accustom the horse to the sight of the poles and to going 
into the gully among them. They fixed the two poles firmly 
at the river crossing from the branch of the tree to the bank, 
so that they could get across easily, and then they crossed on 
them and came home. 

Jack was filled with excitement, and had hard work to 
keep from telling his mother and aunt about it, but he did 
not. 

Jake’s fear of his mammy’s finding out about the axe kept 
him silent. 

The next afternoon they went down again, taking more 
corn with them, in case the other bait had been eaten. There 
were fresh tracks up to the pool, so although they did not 
see the horse, they knew he had been there, and they went 
to work joyfully and cut more poles. They put them into 
position across the ravine, and when it got time to go home 


138 


‘ JACK AND JAKE. 


they had up the barricade and had fixed the entrance ; but 
this was the most difficult part, so Jack laid down some more 
corn along the alley, and they went home. 

The next day was Saturday, so they had a good day’s 
work before them, and taking their dinner with them, they 
started out. Jack’s mother asked what he was doing; he 
said, with a smile, “ Setting traps.” When they arrived the 
horse had been there, and they worked like beavers all day, 
and by dinner-time had got the entrance fixed. It worked 
beautifully. By pressing in between the two sides they gave 
way and then sprang together again until they interlaced, 
and pushing against them from within just pushed them 
tighter together. They laid their bait down and went home 
Monday they visited the trap, but there was no horse in it , 
the grain was eaten without — he had been there — but inside 
it was untouched. He had pushed some of the poles so that 
he could not get in. This was a great disappointment. 
Jack’s motto, however, was, “ If at first you don’t succeed, 
try, try again,” so they refixed it. The failure had some- 
what dampened their ardor. 

The next afternoon, however, when they went, there was 
the entrance closed, and inside, turning about continually, with 
high head and wide eyes, around the edges of which were 
angry white rims, was the horse. He was even handsomer 
than they had thought him. He was a dangerous-looking 
fellow, rearing and jumping about in his efforts to get out. 
Jake was wild with excitement. The next thing was to take 


running noose in the rope and tried to throw it over the horses head. 









' 





* 


















































‘jack and jake: 


hi 


him out and get him home. A lasso would be needed to catch 
him ; for he looked too dangerous for them to go inside the 
trap to bridle him. Jack strengthened the entrance by plac- 
ing a few more poles across it, and then put his corn inside 
the trap, and hurried home to get a rope and bridle. They 
were dreadfully afraid that some one might see them, for Jack 
knew he could not keep the secret now if he met his mother, 
and he had pictured himself, with Jake behind him, galloping 
up into the yard, with his horse rearing and plunging, and 
bringing him up right before his mother, with perhaps a half 
dozen officers around her. They were back in an hour or 
so with a good rope and bridle. 

Jack made a running noose in the rope, and tried to 
throw it over the horse’s head. He had practised this on 
stumps and on Jake, playing Injins, until he was right skil- 
ful at it ; but getting it over the head of a wild and fright- 
ened horse was another thing from putting it over a stump, 
or even over Jake, and it was a long time before he suc- 
ceeded. He stood on the bank over the horse, and would 
throw and throw, and fail ; the horse got furious, and would 
rear and strike at them with his fore-feet. At last, just as he 
was thinking that he could not do it, the noose went over the 
horse’s head. Jack pulled it taut. 

In a second the other end was wrapped twice around a 
small tree on the bank; for Jack knew how to “ get a pur- 
chase.” The horse reared and pulled frightfully, but his 
pulling only tightened the rope around his neck, and at last 


142 


‘JACK AND JAKE: 


he fell back choking, his eyes nearly starting out of his head. 
This was Jack’s opportunity. He had often seen young 
steers caught and yoked this way, and he had bridled young 
colts. In a second he was in the pen, and had the bridle on 
the horse, and in another minute he was out and the rope was 
loosed. The horse, relieved, bounded to his feet and began 
to wheel again ; but he was not so fierce as before. The 
bridle on his head was recognized by him as a badge of servi- 
tude, and he was quieter. It was now late, and he was too 
wild to take out yet, so Jack determined to leave him there, 
and come again next day and get him. The next afternoon 
Jack and Jake set out again for the little meadow in the 
woods. Jack was bent on bringing his captive home this 
time, whatever happened. 

He did not go until late, for he had to pass the pickets on 
the road to the river, and he could do this better about dusk 
than he could in broad daylight. He had an idea that they 
might think, as he would come from toward the Yankee 
camp, that it would be all right; if not, he would make a dash 
for it. He carried a feed* of corn with him to give to the 
horse for two reasons : the first was that he thought he would 
need it, and, besides, it would quiet him. They crossed at 
the old tree, not far from the meadow ; they had crossed so 
often that they had made quite a path now. All the way 
along Jack was telling Jake how he was going to ride the 
horse, no matter what he did. Jake was to stand on the 
ground and hold the rope, so that if the horse flung Jack he 


• JACK AND JAKE: 


43 


would not get loose. They approached the trap with great 
excitement. They were careful, however, for they did not 
want to scare him. As they drew near they were pleased to 
find he had got quiet. They came nearer ; he was so quiet 
that they thought probably he was asleep. So they crept up 
quite close, Jack in advance, and peeped over the bank into 
the trap. Jack’s heart jumped up into his throat. It was 
empty ! he was gone ! Jack could not help a few tears 
stealing down his cheeks. Yes, he was gone. At first 
he thought he had escaped, and he could catch him again ; 
but no, an examination of the place showed him that he 
had been found in the trap by some one, and had been 
stolen. The barricade was pulled down, and the poles of 
the entrance were thrown back quite out of the way. Be- 
sides, there were men’s tracks in the wet place on the edge 
of the pool. Jack sat down and cried. It was some of those 
Yankees, he knew. Jake poured out all his eloquence upon 
the subject. This relieved him. 

“ If I had my gun I’d go right straight and shoot them, K 
declared Jack. 

This valorous resolve set him to thinking. He got up, 
and went down to the gap. He could see the tracks where 
the horse was led out. He must have “ cut up ” a good deal, 
for the grass outside was very much trampled. Jack could 
see where he was led or ridden away. The tracks went 
straight toward the clearing where the picket was. They 
were quite fresh ; he could not very long have been taken. 


144 


‘JACK AND JAKE: 


Jack determined to track him, and find out where he was if 
possible. They set out through the woods. They could fol- 
low the track quite well in most places, but in some spots it 
was almost lost. In such cases Jack followed the method of 
woodsmen — he took a circle, and hunted until he found it 
again. The trail led straight to the clearing. As they drew 
near, Jake became very nervous, so Jack left him lying under 
a bush, and he crept up. It was so late now that it was get- 
ting quite dusk in the woods, so Jack could creep up close. 
He got down on his hands and knees. As he came near 
he could see the men sitting about the little old cabin. They 
were talking. Their guns were lying against the wall, at some 
little distance, and their horses were picketed not far off, 
rather in the shadow, Jack observed. Jack lay down at the 
edge of the wood and counted them. There were five men 
and six horses. Yes, one of them must be his horse. He 
listened to the men. They were talking about horses. He 
crept a little closer. Yes, they were talking over the finding 
of his horse. One man thought he knew him, that he was the 
Colonel’s horse that had been stolen that night when so many 
horses were carried off by the Johnnies; others thought it was 
a horse some of the negroes had stolen from the plantation 
across the river from their master, and had hidden. There 
was the pen and the bridle, and there was the path down to 
the crossing at the river. Jack’s heart beat faster; so they 
knew the crossing. They were very much divided, but on 
one thing they all agreed, that anyhow he was a fine animal, 


'JACK AND JAKEr 


145 


worth at least three hundred dollars, and they would have a 
nice sum from him when they sold him. It was suggested 
that they should play cards for him, and whichever one 
should win should have the whole of him. This was agreed 
to, and they soon arranged themselves and began to play 
cards in the moonlight. 

Jack could now make out his horse standing tied near the 
cabin on the outside of the others. He could see in the 
moonlight that he was tied with a rope. He crept back to 
Jake, and together they went further down into the woods to 
consult. Jack had a plan which he unfolded to Jake, but Jake 
was obdurate. “Nor, sah, he warn’ gwine ’mong dem Yan- 
kees ; Yankees ketch him and shoot him. He was gwine 
home. Mammyd whup him if he didn’ ; she mought whup 
him anyway.” Jack pleaded and promised, but it was use- 
less. He explained to Jake that they could ride home quicker 
than they could walk. It was of no avail. Jake recalled that 
there was a Yankee picket near the bridge, and that was the 
only place a horse could cross since the ford was stopped up. 
Finally Jack had to let Jake go. ; 

He told him not to say anything at home as to where he 
was, which Jake promised, and Jack helped him across the 
poles at the tree, and then went back alone to the clearing. 
He crept up as before. The men were still playing cards, 
and he could hear them swearing and laughing over their ill 
or good luck. One of them looked at his watch. The relief 
would be along in twenty minutes. Jack’s heart beat. He 


10 


146 


'JACK AND JAKE. 


had no time to lose. He cut himself a stout switch. He 
made a little detour, and went around the other side of the 
clearing, so as to get the horse between him and the men. 
This put him on the side toward the camp, as the men were 
on the path which led to the bridge. Without stopping, he 
crept up to the open space. Then he flung himself on his 
face, and began to crawl up through the weeds toward the 
horses, stopping every now and then to listen to the men. 
As he drew near, one or two of the horses got alarmed 
and began to twist, and one of them gave a snort of fear. 
Jack heard the men discussing it, and one of them say he 
would go and see what was the matter. Jack lay flat in 
the weeds, and his heart almost stopped with fright as he 
heard the man coming around the house. He could see 
him through the weeds, and he had his gun in his hands. 
He seemed to be coming right to Jack, and he gave himself 
up as lost. He could hear his heart thumping so, he was 
sure the man must hear it too. He would have sprung up 
and cut for the woods if he had had the slightest chance ; 
and as it was, he came near giving himself up, but though 
the man seemed to be looking right toward him, Jack was 
fortunately so concealed by the weeds that he did not ob- 
serve him. He went up to Jack’s horse, and examined the 
rope. “Tain’t nothing but this new horse,” he called out 
to his comrades. “ He just wanted to see his master. I’ll 
put my saddle on him now, boys. I’ve got him so certain, 
and I mean to let him know he’s got a master.” He changed 
the saddle and bridle from another horse to that, and then 


‘JACK AND JAKE.” 


*47 


went back to his comrades, who were all calling to him to 
come along, and were accusing him of trying to take up the 
time until the relief came, because he was ahead, and did not 
want to play more and give them a chance to win the horse 
back. 

Jack lay still for a minute, and then took a peep at the 
men, who were all busily playing. Then he crept up. As 
soon as he was out of sight, he sprung to his feet and walked 
boldly up to the horse, caught him by the bit, and with a 
stroke of his knife cut the rope almost in two close up to his 
head. Then he climbed up on him, gathered up the reins, 
fixed his feet in the stirrup leathers, bent over, and with a 
single stroke cut the rope and turned him toward the bridge. 
The horse began to rear and jump. Jack heard the men stop 
talking, and one of them say, “That horse is loose ; ” another 
one said, “ Til go and see another said, “ There's the relief.” 
Jack looked over his shoulder. There came a half-dozen 
men on horses. - There was no time to lose. Lifting his 
switch above his head, Jack struck the horse a lick with all his 
might, and with a bound which nearly threw Jack out of his 
seat, he dashed out into the moonlight straight for the road. 
“ He’s loose ! there’s a man on him ! ” shouted the men, spring- 
ing to their feet. Jack leaned forward on his neck and gave 
him the switch just as a volley was fired at him. Pop, pop, 
pop, pop went the pistols ; and the balls flew whistling about 
Jack’s head: ^but he was leaning far forward, and was un- 
touched. Under the lash the horse went flying down the 
path across the little field. 


III. 

J ACK had often run races on colts, but he had never 
ridden such a race as that. The wind blew whistling 
by him ; the leaves of the bushes over the path cut 
him, hissing as he dashed along. If he could pass the picket 
where the path struck the road near the bridge, he would be 
safe. The path was on an incline near the road, and was on 
a straight line with the bridge, so he had a straight dash for 
it. The picket was just beyond the fork. Jack had often 
seen them. There were generally two men on the bridge, 
and a pole was laid across the railing of the bridge near the 
other side. But Jack did not think of that now ; he thought 
only of the men galloping behind him on his track. He 
could not have stopped the horse if he would, but he had no 
idea of trying it. He was near the bridge, and his only 
chance was to dash by the picket. Down the path he went 
as straight as an arrow, his splendid horse leaping under his 
light weight — down the path like a bullet through the dusk 
of the woods. The sleepy picket had heard the firing at the 
clearing up on the hill, and had got ready to stop whoever it 
might be. They were standing in the road, with their guns 


JACK AND JAKE ! 


149 


ready. They could not make it out. It was only a single 
horse coming tearing down toward them. 

“Halt, halt ! they called, before Jack was in sight; but 
it was idle. Down the path the horse came flying — Jack with 
his feet in the stirrup leathers, his hands wrapped in the 
bridle reins, his body bent forward on his horse’s neck, and 
clucking his tongue out. In one bound the horse was in the 
road. “Halt!” Bang! bang! went the guns in his very 
face. But he was flying. A dozen leaps and he was thun- 
dering across the bridge. Jack was conscious only that a 
dark form stood in the middle, throwing up its arms. It was 
but a second ; he saw it shot out into the water as if struck 
by a steam-engine. His horse gave one splendid leap, and 
the next minute he was tearing up the road toward home, 
through the quiet woods, which gave no sound but that of 
his rushing stride. 

Jack had one moment of supreme delight. His mother 
had got somewhat anxious about him, and they were all on 
the front porch when he galloped up into the yard, his beau- 
tiful bay now brought down under perfect control, but yet 
full of life and spirit. As they ran to meet him, Jack sprang 
from the saddle and presented the horse to his mother. 

The next day Jack’s mother called him into her room. 
She took him by the hand. “ My son,” she said, “ I want 
you to carry the horse back and return him to the Yankee 
camp.” 

Jack was aghast. “ Why, mamma, he’s my horse ; that is, 


‘JACK AND JAKE: 


150 


he is yours. I found him and caught him and gave him to 
you.” 

His mother explained to him her reasons. She did not 
think it was right for him to keep the horse obtained in such 
a way. Jack argued that he had found the horse running wild 
in their own woods, and did not know his owner. This made 
no difference ; she told him the horse had an owner. He 
argued that the soldiers took horses, had taken all of theirs, 
and that their own soldiers — the gentlemen who had come to 
tea — had been over and taken a lot from the camp. His 
mother explained to him that that was different. They were 
all soldiers wearing uniforms, engaged openly in war. What 
they took was capture ; Jack was not a soldier, and was not 
treated as one. Jack told her how he had been shot at and 
chased. She was firm. She wished the horse returned, and 
though Jack wept a little for the joint reason of having to 
give up the horse and the mortification of restoring it to the 
Yankees, he obeyed. He had some doubt whether he would 
not be captured ; but his mother said she would write a letter 
to the commanding officer over there, explaining why she 
returned the horse, and this would be safe-conduct. She had 
known the colonel before the war, and he had once stopped 
at her house after a little battle beyond them. Colonel Wil- 
son had, in fact, once been a lover of hers. 

The idea of going with a safe-conduct was rather soothing 
to Jack’s feelings; it sounded like a man. So he went and 
fed the horse. Then he went and asked Jake to go with 


‘JACK AND JAKE: 


151 


him. Jake was very doubtful. He was afraid of the Yan- 
kees catching him. The glory of Jack’s capture the night 
before had, however, given Jack great prestige, and when 
Jack told him about the letter his mother was going to write 
as a safe-conduct— like a “pass/’ he explained — Jake agreed 
to go, but only on condition that he might carry the pass. 
To this Jack consented. It was late in the afternoon when 
they started, for the horse had to be broken to carry double, 
and he was very lively. Both Jack and Jake went off again 
and again. At last, however, they got him steady, and set 
out, Jack in the saddle, and Jake behind him clinging on. 
Jake had the letter safe in his pocket for their protection. 
They had a beautiful ride through the woods, and Jack 
remembered the glorious race he had had there the night 
before. As they approached the bridge, Jack thought of 
tying his handkerchief on a stick as a flag of truce ; but he 
was not sure, as he was not a real soldier, he ought to do so. 
He therefore rode slowly on. He pictured to himself the 
surprise they would have when he rode up, and they recog- 
nized the horse, and learned that he had captured it. 

This feeling almost did away with the mortification- of 
having to return it. He rode slowly as he neared the bridge, 
for he did not want them to think he was a soldier and shoot 
at him. Jack was surprised when he got to the bridge to find 
no men there. He rode across, and not caring to keep up 
the main road, turned up the path toward the clearing. He 
rode cautiously. His horse suddenly shied, and Jack was 


152 


'JACK AND JAKE 


startled by some one springing out of the bushes before him 
and calling “ Halt !” as he flung up his gun. Jake clutched 
him, and Jack halted. Several men surrounded them, and 
ordered them to get down. They slipped off the horse, and 
one of the men took it. They all had guns. 

“Why, this is the Colonel’s thoroughbred that was stolen 
two weeks ago,” declared one of the men. “ Where did you 
steal this horse ? ” asked another of them, roughly. 

“We did not steal him,” asserted Jack, hotly. “We 
found him and caught him in the woods.” 

“You hear that?” The man turned to his comrades. 
“Come, little Johnnie, don’t tell lies. We’ve got you, and 
you were riding a stolen horse, and there were several others 
stolen at the same time. You’d better tell the truth, and 
make a clean breast of it, if you know what’s good for you.” 

Jack indignantly denied that he had stolen the horse, and 
told how they had caught him and were bringing him back. 
He had a letter from his mother to Colonel Wilson, he 
asserted, to prove it. 

“ Where is the letter ? ” they asked. 

Jack turned to Jake. “ Jake’s got it in his pocket.” 

“Yes, I got de pass,” declared Jake, feeling in his pocket. 
He felt first in one and then another. His countenance fell. 
“ Hi ! I done los’ it,” he asserted. 

The soldiers laughed. That was a little too thin, they 
declared. Come, they must go with them. They proposed 
to put a stop to this horse-stealing. It had been going on 


‘JACK AND JAKEr 


T 53 


long enough. A horse was stolen only last night, and the 
man had run over one of the pickets on the bridge, and 
had knocked him into the river and drowned him. They 
were glad to find who it was, etc. 

Jack felt very badly. Jake came close up to him and 
began to whisper. “ Jack, what dey gwine do wid us?” he 
asked. 

“Hang you, you black little horse-stealing imp!” said 
one of the men, with a terrific force. “Cut you up into little 
pieces.” 

The others laughed. Men are often not very considerate 
to children. They do not realize how helpless children feel 
in their power. Both Jack and Jake turned pale. 

Jake was ashy. “Jack, I told you not to come,” he cried. 

Jack acknowledged the truth of this. He had it on his 
tongue’s end to say, “ What did you lose the letter for ? ” but 
he did not. He felt that as his father’s son he must be brave. 
He just walked close to Jake and touched him. “Don’t be 
scared,” he whispered. “We will get away.” 

Just then one of the men caught Jake and twisted his 
arm a little. Jake gave a little whine of fright. In an 
instant Jack snatched a gun from a man near by him, and 
cocking it, levelled it at the soldier. “ Let Jake go, or I’ll 
blow your brains out,” he said. 

A hand seized him from behind, and the gun was jerked 
out of his hand. It went off, but the bullet flew over their 
heads. There was no more twisting of Jake’s arm, however. 


1 54 


* JACK AND JAKE . 1 


The soldiers, after this, made them march along between 
them. They carried them to the clearing where the old 
house was, and where some of their comrades were on guard 
awaiting them. They marched the boys up to the fire. 
“ We’ve got the little horse-thieves,” they declared. “ They 
were coming over after another horse ; but I guess we’ll 
break it up now.” 

“ Why, they are mighty little fellows to be horse-thieves,” 
said one. 

“ They are the worst kind,” declared the other. 

“ Must be right bad, then, corporal, for you are pretty 
handy yourself,” declared a comrade. 

“We are not any horse-thieves,” asserted Jack il We 
found this horse.” 

“ Shut up !” ordered one of his captors. They began to 
talk about what they would do with them. Several methods 
of securing them were proposed, and it was, finally deter- 
mined to lock them up in the loft of the old cabin till morn- 
ing, when they would carry them to camp, and the Colonel 
would make proper disposition of them. 

“ Can’t they get away in there ?” asked one man. 

“ No ; there is a bolt on the outside of the door,” said 
another. “ Besides, we are all down here.” 

They were accordingly taken and carried into the house 
and up the rickety old stairs to the loft, where they were left 
on the bare floor with a single blanket. It was quite dark in 
there, and Jack felt very low down as he heard the bolt 


‘Jack and jake: 


155 


pushed into the staple on the outside. Jake was crying, and 
Jack could not help sobbing a little himself. He had, how- 
ever, to comfort Jake, so he soon stopped, and applied him- 
self to this work. The only comfort Jake took was in his 
assurance that he would get him out. 

“ How you gwine do it ?” asked Jake. 

“ Never mind, I’ll do it,” declared Jack, though he had no 
idea how he was to make good his word. He had taken 
good notice of the outside of the cabin, and now he began 
to examine the inside. As his eyes became accustomed to 
the darkness, he could see better, and as they were bare- 
footed, they could walk about without any noise. The old 
roof was full of holes, and they could see the sky grow white 
with the rising moon. There was an old window in one end 
of the loft. There were holes in the side, and looking out, 
Jack could see the men sitting about, and hear their voices. 
Jack tried the window ; it was nailed down. He examined 
it carefully, as he did every other part of the room. He 
decided that he could cut the window out in less time than 
he could cut a hole through the roof. 

He would have tried the bolt, but some of the men were 
asleep in the room below, and they could not pass them. 
If they could get out of the window, they might climb down 
the chimney. He had nothing but his old pocket-knife, and 
unfortunately a blade of that was broken ; but the other was 
good. He told Jake his plan, who did not think much of it. 
Jack thought it was bedtime, so he knelt down and said his 


i 5 6 


‘JACK AND JAKE.' 


prayers. When he prayed for his mother he felt very badly, 
and a few tears stole out of his eyes. When he was done, 
Jack began to work. He worked carefully and quietly at first, 
making a cut or two, and then listening to see if any one stirred 
below. This was slow work, and after a while he began to 
cut harder and faster. It showed so very little that he pres- 
ently got impatient, and dug his knife deeper into the plank. 
It took a good hold, he gave a vigorous pull, and the blade 
snapped off in the middle. It made so much noise that one 
of the men below asked : 

“ What are those boys doin’ upstairs there ? They ain’t 
tryin’ to git away, yo’ s’pose, are they? If so, we better 
fetch ’em down here.” 

Jack flung himself down beside Jake and held his breath. 
The soldiers listened, and then one of them said : 

“ Oh, no, ’tain’t nothin’ but rats. They’re fast asleep, I 
guess.” 

Jack almost gave himself up for lost, for he now had only 
his broken blade ; but after a while he went at it again, more 
carefully. He could see that he was making headway now, 
and he kept on cutting. Jake went fast asleep in the blanket, 
but Jack kept on. After a time he had nearly cut out one of 
the planks ; he could get a hold on it and feel it give. At 
this point his impatience overcame him. He took hold and 
gave a wrench. The plank broke with a noise which startled 
not only Jake lying in his blanket, but the men below, one or 
two of whom sprang up. They began to discuss the noise. 


' JACK AND JAKE: 


*57 


“ That war’n’t no rats,” said one. “ Them boys is trying 
to git out, I heard the window open. Go and see what 
they are doing,” he said to his comrade. 

Jack held his breath. 

“You go yourself,” said he. “ I say it’s rats.” 

“ Rats ! You’ve got rats,” said the other. “I’ll go, just 
to show you ’tain’t rats.” 

He got up, and taking a torch, came to the stair. Jack 
felt his heart jump up in his mouth. He just had time to 
stuff his hat into the hole he had made, to shut out the sky, 
and to fling himself down beside Jake and roll up in the 
blanket, when the bolt was pulled back and the man entered. 
He held the torch high above his head and looked around. 
Jack felt his hair rise. He could hear his heart thumping, 
and was sure the man heard it too. Jake stirred. Jack 
clutched him and held him. The man looked at them. The 
flame flickered and died, the man went out, the bolt grated in 
the staple, and the man went down the shaky stair. 

“Well, you are right for once,” Jack heard him say. 
“ Must have been rats ; they are both fast asleep on the 
floor.” 

Jack waited till the talk died away, and then he went to 
work again. He had learned a lesson by this time, and he 
worked carefully. At last he had the hole big enough to 
creep through. It was right over the shoulder of the rickety 
old log chimney, and by making a quick turn he could catch 
hold of the “chinking” and climb down by it. He could see 


158 


‘ JACK AND JAKE." 


the men outside, but the chimney would be partly between 
them, and as they climbed down the shadow would, he believed, 
conceal them. He did not know how long he had been work- 
ing, so he thought it best not to wait any longer. Therefore, 
after taking a peep through the cracks down on the men 
below, and finding them all asleep, he began to wake Jake. 
Having got him awake, he lay down by him and whispered 
his plans to him. He would go first to test the chimney, and 
then Jake would come. They were not to speak under any 
circumstances, and if either slipped, they were to lie perfectly 
still. The blanket — except one piece, which he cut off and 
hung over the hole to hide the sky, in case the men should 
come up and look for them — was to be taken along with 
them to fling over them if their flight should be discovered. 
The soldiers might think it just one of their blankets. After 
they got to the woods, they were to make for their tree. If 
they were pursued, they were to lie down under bushes and 
not speak or move. Having arranged everything, and fas- 
tened the piece of blanket so that it hung loosely over the 
hole, allowing them to get through, Jack crawled out of the 
window and let himself down by his hands. His bare feet 
touched the shoulder of the chimney, and letting go, he 
climbed carefully down. Jake was already coming out of the 
window. Jack thought he heard a noise, and crept around 
the house through the weeds to see what it was. It was 
only a horse, and he was turning back, when he heard a great 
racket and scrambling, and with a tremendous thump Jake 


‘JACK AND JAKE. 


*59 


came tumbling down from the chimney into the weeds. He 
had the breath all knocked out of him, and lay quite still. 
Jack heard some one say, “ What on earth was that ? ” and he 
had only time to throw the blanket over Jake and drop down 
into the weeds himself, when he heard the man come striding 
around the house. He had his gun in his hand. He passed 
right by him, between him and the dark blanket lying in the 
corner. He stopped and looked all around. He was not ten 
feet from him, and was right over the blanket under which Jake 
lay. He actually stooped over, as if he was going to pull the 
blanket off of Jake, and Jack gave himself up for lost. But 
the man passed on, and Jack heard him talking to his com- 
rades about the curious noise. They decided that it must 
have been a gun which burst somewhere. Jack’s heart 
was in his mouth about Jake. He wondered if he. was 
killed. He was about to crawl up to him, when the blan- 
ket stirred and Jake’s head peeped out, then went back. 
“Jake, oh, Jake, are you dead?” asked Jack, in a whis- 
per. 

“ I dun know ; b’lieve I is,” answered Jake. “ Mos’ dead, 
anyway.” 

“ No, you ain’t. Is your leg broke ? ” 

‘ Yes.” 

“ No, ’tain’t,” encouraged Jack. “ Waggle your toe ; can 
you waggle your toe ?” 

“Yes; some, little bit,” whispered Jake, kicking under 
the blanket. 


‘JACK AND JAKE: 


160 


“ Waggle your other toe — waggle all your toes/’ whis- 
pered Jack. 

The blanket acted as if some one was having a fit 
under it. 

“Your leg ain’t broke; you are all right,” said Jack. 
“ Come on.” 

Jake insisted that his leg was broken, and that he could 
not walk. 

“Crawl,” said Jack, creeping up to him. “Come on, like 
Injins. It’s getting day.” He started off through the weeds, 
and Jake crawled after him. His ankle was sprained, how- 
ever, and the briers were thick, and he made slow progress, 
so Jack crawled along by him through the weeds, helping 
him. 

They were about half way across the little clearing when 
they heard a noise behind them ; lights were moving about 
in the house, and, looking back, Jack saw men moving around 
the house, and a man poked his head out of the window. 

“ Here’s where they escaped,” they called. Another man 
below the window called out, “ Here’s their track, where they 
went. They cannot have gone far. We can catch them.” 
They started toward them. It was the supreme mo- 
ment. 

“ Run, Jake ; run for the woods,” cried Jack, springing to 
his feet and pulling Jake up. They struck out. Jake was 
limping, however, and Jack put his arm under him and sup- 
ported him along. They heard a cry behind them of, “ There 


'JACK AND JAKE: 


161 


they go ! catch them ! ” But they were almost at the woods, 
and a second later they were dashing through the bushes, 
heading straight for their crossing at the old tree. After a 
time they had to slow up, for Jake's ankle pained him. Jack 
carried him on his back ; but he was so heavy he had fre- 
quently to rest, and it was broad day before they got near 
the river. They kept on, however, and after a time reached 
the stream. There Jake declared he could not cross the 
poles. Jack urged him, and told him he would help him 
across. He showed him how. Jake was unstrung, and could 
not try it. He sat down and cried. Jack said he would go 
home and bring him help. Jake thought this best. Jack 
crawled over the pole, and was nearly across, when, looking 
back, he saw a number of soldiers on the hill riding through 
the woods. 

“ Come on, Jake ; here they come,” he called. T he sol- 
diers saw him at the same moment, and some of them started 
down the hill. A shot or two were fired toward them ; Jake 
began to cry. Jack was safe, but he turned and crawled back 
over the pole toward him. “ Come on, Jake ; they are com- 
ing. They won’t hit you — you can get over.” 

Jake started ; Jack waited, and reached out his hand to 
him. Jake had gotten over the worst part, when his foot 
slipped, and with a cry he went down into the water. Jack 
caught his hand, but it slipped out of his grasp. He came 
up with his arms beating wildly. “ Help — help me ! ” he 
cried, and went down again. In went Jack head foremost, 


ii 


162 


1 JACK AND JAKE: 


and caught him by the arm. Jake clutched him. They came 
up. Jack thought he had him safe. " I’ve got you/’ he said. 

" Don’t ” But before he could-finish the sentence, Jake 

flung his arm around his neck and choked him, pulling him 
down under the water, and getting it into his throat and nos- 
trils. Jack struggled, and tried to get up, but he could not ; 

/ Jake had him fast. He knew he was drowning. He remem- 
bered being down on the bottom of the river and think- 
ing that if he could but get Jake to the top again he would 
be safe. He thought that the Yankees might save him. He 
tried, but Jake had him tight, choking him. He thought 
how he had brought him there ; he thought of his mother 
and father, and that he had not seen his mother that morn- 
ing, and had not said his prayers, and then he did not know 
anything more. 

The next thing he knew, some one said, “ He’s all right,” 
and he heard confused voices, and was suffering some in his 
chest and throat, and he heard his mother’s voice, and open- 
ing his eyes he was in a tent. She was leaning over him, 
crying and kissing him, and there were several gentlemen 
around the bed he was on. He was too weak to think much, 
but he felt glad that his mother was there. " I went back 
after Jake,” he said, faintly. 

"Yes, you did, like a man,” said a gentleman in an offi- 
cer’s uniform, bending over him. " We saw you.” 

Jack turned from him. "Mother,” he said, feebly, "we 
carried the horse back, but ” 


"JACK AND JAKE. ' 


1 63 


44 He is just outside the door,” said the same gentleman ; 
44 he belongs to you. His owner has presented him to 
you.” 

44 To me and Jake !” said Jack. 44 Where is Jake ? ” But 
they would not let him talk. They made him go to sleep. 


THE END. 



Charles Scribner’s Sons’ ‘Books for Young Readers, 


Written and Illustrated by Howard Pyle. 


NEW BOOK JUST ‘PUBLISHED. 


THE GARDEN BEHIND THE MOON. 

A Real Story of the Moon Angel. Written and illustra- 
ted by Howard Pyle. Square i2mo, $2.00. 

Underneath the charm of this original and delightful fairy tale of 
Mr. Pyle’s is a mystical moral significance which gives it the dignity of 
true literature in addition to its interest of adventure. Out of the truth 
that great deeds are achieved and high character moulded by entire 
spiritual consecration, rather than by direct and interested effort, the 
author has evolved a winning and delightful piece of fanciful fiction, and 
has illustrated it copiously in his happiest and most characteristically 
poetical vein. 



OTHER ‘BOOKS BY MR. PYLE. 




THE MERRY ADVENTURES OF 
ROBIN HOOD 


of Great Renown in Nottinghamshire. With many illustra- 
tions. Royal 8vo, $3.00. 


“This superb book is unquestionably the most original and elaborate ever produced by any 
American artist. Mr. Pyle has told, with pencil and pen, the complete and consecutive story of 
Robin Hood and his merry men in their haunts 
in Sherwood Forest, gathered from the old bal- 
lads and legends. Mr. Pyle’s admirable illustra- 
tions are strewn profusely through the book.” — 

Boston Transcript. 


OTTO OF THE SILVER HAND. 

With many illustrations. Royal 8vo, half leather, 
$2.00. 

“ The scene of the story is mediaeval Germany in the time of the feuds 
and robber barons and romance. The kidnapping of Otto, his adventures 
among rough soldiers, and his daring rescue, make up a spirited and thrilling 
story. The drawings are in keeping with the text, and in mechanical and artistic 
qualities as well as in literary execution the book must be greeted as one of the 
very best juveniles of the year, quite worthy to succeed to the remarkable 
popularity of Mr. Pvle’s ‘Robin Hood.’” — Christian Union. 


FROM “ OTTO OF THB SILVER HAND.” 

Reduced. 


Charles Scribner’s Sons’ 'Books for Young Readers. 


Thomas Nelson Page’s Two Books. 

AMONG THE CAMPS: Or, Young People’s Stories of the War. 

With 8 full-page illustrations. Square, 8vo, $1.50. 

“ They are five in number, each having reference to some incident of the Civil 
War. A vein of mingled pathos and humor runs through them all, and greatly 
heightens the charm of them. It is the early experience of the author himself, 
doubtless, which makes his pictures of life in a Southern home during the great 
struggle so vivid and truthful.” — The Nation. 


TWO LITTLE CONFEDERATES. With 8 full-page illustrations 
by Kemble and Redwood. Square, 8vo, $1.50. 

“ Mr. Page was ‘ raised ’ in Virginia, and he knows the ‘ darkey ’ of the South 
better than any one who writes about them. And he knows ‘white folks,’ too, 
and his stories, whether for old or young people, have the charm of sincerity and 
beauty and reality.” — Harper’s Young People. 


W. O. Stoddard's Books for Boys. 

DAB KINZER. A Story of a Growing Boy. THE QUARTET. A Sequel to Dab Kinzei 
SALTILLO BOYS. AMONG THE LAKES. WINTER FUN. 

Five volumes , 1 2mo, in a box, $5.00. Sold separately, each, $1 .00. 

“ William O. Stoddard has written capital books for boys. His 1 Dab Kinzer ’ and ‘ The Quartet ’ are among the best speci- 
mens of ‘Juveniles ’ produced anywhere. In his latest volume, ‘ Winter Fun,’ Mr. Stoddard gives free rein to his remarkable 
gift of story -tellling for boys. Healthful works of this kind cannot be too freely distributed among the little men of America.” 
. — New Yoxk Journal of Commerce. 



Little People 

And their Homes in Meadows, Woods, and Waters. By Stella Louise Hook. 
Illustrated by Dan Beard and Harry Beard. One volume, square 8vo, $1.50. 

“ A delightful excursion for the little ones into the fairy-land of nature, telling all about the little people and all in such 
pleasant language and such pretty illustrations that the little readers will be charmed as much as they will be instructed by the 
book.” — N ew York Evangelist. 

Two Books by Robert Louis Stevenson. 

THE BLACK ARROW: 

A Tale of the Two Roses. By R. L. Stevenson. With 

12 full-page illustrations by Will H. Low and Alfred 
Brennan. i2mo, $1.25. 

“ The story is one of the strongest pieces of romantic writing ever done by Mr. Stevenson.” 
—The Boston Times. 

KIDNAPPED; 

Being Memoirs of the Adventures of David Balfour in the 
Year 1751. By R. L. Stevenson. i2mo, with 16 full-page 
illustrations, $1.50. 

“ Mr. Stevenson has never appeared to greater advantage than in * Kidnapped.’ Thb 
Nation. 



Charles Scribner’s Sons’ Books for Young Readers , 


Frank R. Stockton’s Books for the Young. 

" His books for boys and girls are classics .” — Newark Advertiser. 




THE CLOCKS OF RONDAINE, and Other Stories. With 24 illustrations 
by Blashfield, Rogers, Beard, and others. Square 8vo, $1.50. 

PERSONALLY CONDUCTED. Illustrated by 
Pennell, Parsons, and others. Sq. 8vo, $2.00. 

THE STORY OF V 1 TEAU. Illustrated by R. 
B. Birch. i2mo, $1.50. 

A JOLLY FELLOWSHIP. With 20 illustrations. 
i2mo, $1.50. 

THE FLOATING PRINCE AND OTHER FAIRY 
TALES. Illustrated. Square 8vo, $1.50. 


THE TING-A-LING TALES. Illustrated. i2mo, FRANK R. STOCKTON. 
$1.00. 

ROUNDABOUT RAMBLES IN LANDS OF FACT AND FICTION. 
Illustrated. Square 8vo, $1.50. 

TALES OUT OF SCHOOL. With nearly 200 illustrations. Square 
8vo, $1.50. 

“ The volumes are profusely illustrated and contain the most entertaining sketches in 
Mr. Stockton’s most entertaining manner.” — Christian Union. 


Edward Eggleston’s Two Popular Books. 


THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY. 

Illustrated. i2mo, $1.00. 

“ * The Hoosier School-Boy’ depicts some of the charac- 
teristics of boy-life years ago on the Ohio ; characteristics, 
however, that were not peculiar to that section. The story 
presents a vivid and interesting picture of the difficulties which 
in those days beset the path of the youth aspiring for an edu- 
cation.” — Chicago Inter-Ocean. 


QUEER STORIES FOR BOYS AND 
GIRLS. i2mo, $1.00. 

“ A very bright and attractive little volume for young 
readers. The stories are fresh, breezy, and healthy, with a 
good point to them and a good, sound American view of life 
and the road to success. The book abounds in good feeling 
and good sense, and is written in a style of homely art.” — In- 
dependent. 


Evening Tales. 


Done into English from the French of Frederic Ortoli, by Joel Chandler 

Harris. i2mo, $1.00. 


“ It is a veritable French * Uncle Remus ’ that Mr. Harris has discovered in Frederic Ortoli. The 
book has the genuine piquancy of Gallic wit, and will be sure to. charm American children. Mr. Har- 
ris’s version is delightfully written.” — Boston Beacon. 


Hans Brinker : 

Or, The Silver Skates. A Story of Life in Holland. By Mary 
Mapes Dodge. With 60 illustrations. i2mo, $1.50. 

“ The author has shown, in her former works for the young, a very rare ability to meet their 
wants; but she has produced nothing better than this charming tale — alive with incident and action, 
adorned rather than freighted with useful facts, and moral without moralization.” — The Nation. 



Charles Scribner’s Sons’ ‘Books for Young Readers. 


Heroes of the Olden Time. 

By James Baldwin. Three volumes, i2mo, each 
' beautifully illustrated. Singly, $1.50; 
the set, $4.00. 

A STORY OF THE GOLDEN AGE. Illustrated 

by Howard Pyle. 

“ Mr. Baldwin’s book is redolent with the spirit of the Odyssey, that glo- 
rious primitive epic, fresh with the dew of the morning of time. It is an unal- 
loyed pleasure to read his recital of the adventures of the wily Odysseus. How- 
ard Pyle’s illustrations render the spirit of the Homeric age with admirable 
felicity. ’’-—Prof. H. H. Boyesen. 



THE STORY OF SIEGFRIED. Illustrated by Howard Pyle. 

“The story of ‘Siegfried’ is charmingly told. The author makes up the story fr:m the various myths in a fascinating 
way which cannot fail to interest the reader. It is as enjoyable as any fairy tale.” — Hartford Courant. ^ 

THE STORY OF ROLAND. Illustrated by R. B. Birch. 

“Mr. Baldwin has culled from a wide range of epics, French, Italian, and German, and has once more proved his aptitude 
as a story-teller for the young.” — The Nation. 


The Boy’s Library of Legend and Chivalry. 

Edited by Sidney Lanier, and richly illustrated by Fredericks, Bensell, and 
Kappes. Four volumes, cloth, uniform binding, price per set, $7.00. Sold 
separately, price per volume, $2.00. 



Mr. Lanier’s books present to boy readers the old 
English classics of history and legend in an attract- 
ive form. While they are stories of action and 
stirring incident, they teach those lessons which 
manly, honest boys ought to learn. 

THE BOY’S KING ARTHUR. 

THE BOY’S FROISSART. 

THE BOY’S PERCY. 

THE KNIGHTLY LEGENDS OF 
WALES. 

“ Amid all the strange and fanciful scenery of these stories, 
character and ideals of character remain at the simplest and 
purest. The romantic history transpires in the healthy atmos- 
phere of the open air on the green earth beneath the open sky. M 
—The Independent. 


Charles Scribner’s Sons’ Hooks for Young Readers 


Samuel Adams Drake’s Historical Books. 


THE MAKING OF THE OHIO VALLEY STATES. 1660-1837. 
Illustrated. i2mo, $1.50. 

THE MAKING OF VIRGINIA AND THE MIDDLE COLONIES. 
1578-1701. Illustrated. i2mo, $1.50. 

THE MAKING OF NEW ENGLAND. 1580-1643. With 148 
illustrations and with maps. i2mo, $1.50. 

THE MAKING OF THE GREAT WEST. 1812-1853. With 
145 illustrations and with maps. i2mo, $1.50. 

“The author’s aim in these books is that they shall occupy a place between the 
larger and lesser histories of the lands and of the periods of which they treat, and 
that each topic therein shall be treated as a unit and worked out to a clear understand- 
ing of its objects and results before passing to another topic. In the furtherance of this 
method each subject has its own descriptive notes, maps, plans and illustrations, 
the whole contributing to a thorough, though condensed, knowledge of the sub- 
ject in hand.” — New York Mail and Express. 



The Butterfly Hunters in the Caribbees. 

By Dr. Eugene Murray-Aaron. With 8 full-page illustrations. Square i2mo, $2.00. 

“ The book is written in a very interesting style. The author is a recognized authority on the subjects of which he writes. 
He takes a company of young explorers over ground with which he is thoroughly familiar.” — The Independent. 

“ Our author only reproduces the incidents and scenes of his own life as an exploring naturalist in a way to capture the 
attention of younger readers. The incidents are told entertainingly, and his descriptions of country and the methods of capture of 
butterflies and bugs of rare varieties are full of interest.” — Chicago Inter-Ocean. 


A New Mexico David. 


And Other Stories and Sketches of the South West. By Charles F. Lummis. Illustrated. i2mo, 
$1.25. 


“ Mr. Lummis has lived for years in the land of the Pueblos ; has traversed it in every direction, both on foot and on horse- 
back ; and it is an enthralling treat set before youthful readers by him in this series of lively chronicles." — Boston Beacon. 



EUGENE FIELD. 


Poems of Childhood by Eugene Field. 

LOVE SONGS OF CHILDHOOD. i6mo, $1.00. 

WITH TRUMPET AND DRUM. By Eugene Field. i6mo, $1.00. 

“ His poems of childhood have gone home, not only to the hearts of children, but to 
the heart of the country as well, and he is one of the few contributors to that genuine 
literature of childhood which expresses ideas from the standpoint of a child." — The Outlook. 


Charles Scribner’s Sons’ "'Books for Young Readers. 


The Wagner Story Book. 

Firelight Tales of the Great Music Dramas. By William Henry Frost. 
Illustrated by Sidney R. Burleigh. i2mo, $1.50. 

“A successful attempt to make the romantic themes of the music dramas intelligible to 
young readers. The author has full command of his subject, and the style is easy, graceful and 
simple.” — Boston Beacon. 



RICHARD WAGNER. 


Robert Grant’s Two Books for Boys 


JACK HALL: Or, the School Days of an Ameri- 
can Boy. Illustrated by F. G. Attwood. 
I 2 mo, $1.25. 

“ A better book for boys has never been written. It is 
pure, clean and healthy, and has throughout a vigorous action 
that holds the reader breathlessly.” — Boston Herald. 

“ A capital story for boys, wholesome and interesting. It 
reminds one of Tom Brown.” — Boston Transcript. 


JACK IN THE BUSH: Or, a Summer on a Sal- 
mon River. Illustrated by F. T. Merrill. 
i2mo, $1.25. 

“A clever book for boys. It is the story of the camp 
life of a lot of boys, and is destined to please every boy reader. 
It is attractively illustrated.”— Detroit Free Press. 

“An ideal story of out-door life and genuine experiences.” 
—Boston Traveller. 


Illustrated Library of Travel. 

Edited by BAYARD TAYLOR. 

Per set, six volumes, i2mo, $6.00. Each with many illustrations. Sold sep- 
arately, per volume, $1.25. 

JAPAN IN OUR DAY. 

TRAVELS IN ARABIA. 

TRAVELS IN SOUTH AFRICA. 
CENTRAL ASIA. 

THE LAKE REGION OF CENTRAL 
AFRICA. 

SIAM, THE LAND OF THE WHITE- 
ELEPHANT. 

Each volume is complete in itself, and contains, 
first, a brief preliminary sketch of the country tO' 
which it is devoted; next, such an outline of pre- 
vious explorations as may be necessary to explain what has been achieved by later ones; and finally, 
a condensation of one or more of the most important narratives of recent travel, accompanied with 
illustrations of the scenery, architecture, and life of the races, drawn only from the most authentic 
sources. 

“ Authenticated accounts of countries, peoples, modes of living and being, curiosities in natural history, and personal adven- 
ture in travels and explorations, suggest a rich fund of solid instruction combined with delightful entertainment. The editorship, 
by one of the most observant and well-traveled men of modern times, at once secures the high character of the 4 Library ’ in every 
particular.”— The Sunday School Times. 





Charles Scribner's Sons' 'Books for Young Readers . 


Kent Hampden. 

A Story of a Boy. By Rebecca Harding Davis. Illus- 
trated by Rufus F. Zogbaum. i 2 mo, $1.00. 

Mrs. Davis’s story of the heroic lad, who by his courage, faith, and 
persistency freed his father’s good name from suspicion and overcame his 
enemies, is a valuable and entertaining study of life in West Virginia 
seventy years ago. 

“ Sharply drawn incidents and a crisp narrative make the book interesting. 5 ’ — Boston 
Journal.” 




Two Books of Sports and Games. 

THE AMERICAN BOY’S HANDY BOOK; 

Or, What to Do and How to Do It. By Daniel C. 
Beard. With 360 illustrations by the author. 
Square 8vo, $2 .00. 

“ The book has this great advantage over its predecessors, that most of the games, 
tricks, and other amusements described in it, are new. It treats of sports adapted to 
all seasons of the year; it is practical, and it is well illustrated.” — New York 
Tribune. 

THE AMERICAN GIRL’S HANDY BOOK. 

By Lena and Adelia B. Beard. With over 500 
illustrations by the authors. Square 8vo, $2.00. 

Louisa M. Alcott : “I have put it in my list of good and useful books for 
young people, as I have many requests for advice from my little friends and their 
anxious mothers. I am most happy to commend your very ingenious and enter- 
taining book.” 


The Boys’ Library of Pluck and Action. 


Illustrated. Four volumes, i2mo,inabox, 

Si. 50. 

The purpose of “The Boy’s Library of Pluck 
and Action ” was to bring together the representative 
and most popular books of four of the best known 
writers for young people. Each of these books is 
fully described elsewhere in this catalogue. The 
volumes are beautifully illustrated and are uniformly 
bound. 

THE BOY EMIGRANTS. By Noah Brooks. 
PHAETON ROGERS. By Rossiter Johnson. 

A JOLLY FELLOWSHIP. By F. R. Stockton. 
HANS BRINKER. By Mrs. Mary M. Dodge. 


$5.00. Sold separately, per volume, 



Charles Scribner’s Sons’ Hooks for Young Readers. 


A New Book by Kirk Munroe. 

*AT WAR WITH PONTIAC ; 

Or, The Totem of the Bear. A Tale of Redcoat and Redskin. 

By Kirk Munroe. With 8 full-page illustrations by J. 

Finnemore. i2mo, $1.25. 

A story of old days in America when Detroit was a frontier town and 
the shores of Lake Erie were held by hostile Indians under Pontiac. The 
hero, Donald Hester, goes in search of his sister Edith, who has been cap- 
tured by the Indians. Strange and terrible are his experiences : for he is 
wounded, taken prisoner, condemned to be burned, and contrives to escape. 

In the end there is peace between Pontiac and the English, and all things 
terminate happily for the hero. One dares not skip a page of this enthralling 
story. 

^THE WHITE CONQUEROR. 

A Tale of Toltec and Aztec. By Kirk Munroe. With 8 
full-page illustrations by W. S. Stacey. i2mo, $1.25. 

“ The story Is replete with scenes of vivid power; it is full of action and rapid movement; and he must be deficient i.i recep 
tive faculty who fails to gain valuable historical instruction, along with the pleasure of reading a tale graphically told.” — Phila 
delphia Bulletin. 

Stories of Literature, Science, and History. 

By HENRIETTA CHRISTIAN WRIGHT. 

^ NEJV VOLUME JUST ISSUED. 

CHILDREN’S STORIES IN AMERICAN LITERATURE— 1660-1860. l2mo, $1.25. 

Miss Wright here continues her attractive presentation of literary history begun in her “ Chil 
dren’s Stories in English Literature.” Elliot, the translator of the Bible into the English language, 
Irving, Cooper, Prescott, Holmes, Longfellow, Hawthorne, Mrs. Stowe, Whittier, Poe, and Emer- 
son are here considered, bringing the history of the subject down to the period of the civil war, and 
treated with constant reference to that side of their works and personalities which most nearly ap- 

CHILDREN’S STORIES IN ENGLISH LITERATURE. Two volumes : 
Taliesin to Shakespeare — Shakespeare to Tennyson. i2mo, each, $1.25. 

“ It is indeed a vivid history of the people as well as a story of their literature; and, brief as it is, 
the author has so deftly seized on all the salient points, that the child who has read this book will be 
more thoroughly acquainted than many a student of history with the life and thought of the cen- 
turies over which the work reaches.” — The Evangelist. 

CHILDREN’S STORIES OF THE GREAT SCIENTISTS. With portraits. 
l2mo, $1.25. 

‘ ‘ The author has succeeded in making her pen-pictures of the great scientists as graphic as the 
excellent portraits that illustrate the work. Around each name she has picturesquely grouped the 
essential features of scientific achievement.”— Brooklyn Times. 

CHILDREN’S STORIES IN AMERICAN HISTORY. Illustrated. i2mo, 
$1.25. 

“ A most delightful and instructive collection of historical events, told in a simple and pleasant 
manner. Almost every occurrence in the gradual development of our country is woven into an 
attractive story.” — S an Francisco Evening Post. 

CHILDREN’S STOPIES OF AMERICAN PROGRESS. Illustrated. l2mo, $1.25. 

“ Miss Wright is favorably known by her volume of well-told ‘Stories in American History;’ and her ‘ Stories of American 
Progress ’ is equally worthy of commendation. Taken together they present a series of pictures of great graphic interest. 
The illustrations are excellent.” — The Nation- 




Charles Scribner's Sons' Hooks for Young Readers . 


Stories for Boys. 

By Richard Harding Davis. With 6 full-page illustra- 
tions. i2mo, $1.00 

Contents : The Reporter who made himself King — Midsummer Pi- 
rates — Richard Carr’s Baby, a Football Story — The Great Tri-Club 
Tennis Tournament — The Jump at Corey’s Slip — The Van Bibber 
Baseball Club — The Story of a Jockey. 

“ It will be astonishing indeed if youths of all ages are not fascinated with these 
‘Stories for Boys.* Mr. Davis knows infallibly what will interest his young readers.’ ’ 
—Boston Beacon. 


Marvels of Animal Life Series. 

By Charles F. Holder. Three volumes, 8vo, 
each profusely illustrated. Singly, $1.75; 
the Set, $5.00. 

THE IVORY KING. A Popular History of the Ele- 
phant and its Allies. 

“The author talks in a lively and pleasant way about white 
elephants, rogue elephants, baby elephants, trick elephants, of the 
elephant in war, pageantry, sports and games. A charming accession 
to books for young people.” — Chicago Interior. 

MARVELS OF ANIMAL LIFE. 

“ Mr. Holder combines his description -of these odd creatures with 
stories of his own adventures in pursuit of them in many parts of the 
world. These are told with much spirit, and add greatly to the fasci- 
nation of the book.” — Worcester Spy. 

LIVING LIGHTS. A Popular Account of Phosphor- 
escent Animals and Vegetables. 

‘ 1 A very curious branch of natural history is expounded in most 
agreeable style by this delightful book. He has revealed a world of 
new wonders.”— Philadelphia Bulletin. 

e Cockades. 

An Incident of the “Forty-five.” By Edward I. Stevenson. i2mo, $1.00. 

“ A bright historical tale. The scene is Scotland ; the time that of Prince Charles’ rebellion. The hero is a certain gallant 
young nobleman devoted to the last of the Stuarts and his cause. The action turns mainly upon the hiding, the hunting, and the 
narrow escapes of Lord Geoffrey Armitage from the spies and soldiers of the King.” — New York Mail and Express. 

Prince Peerless. 

A Fairy-Folk Story Book. By Margaret Collier (Madam Gelletti Di Cadilhac). 
Illustrated by John Collier. i2mo, $1.25. 

“ More admirable and fascinating a fairy-story book we have not lately set eyes upon. The stories are most airily conceived 
and gracefully executed.”— Hartford Post. 




RICHARD HARDING DAVIS. 


Charles Scribner’s Sons’ "Books for Young Readers . 


The Norseland Series. 


<BY H. H. TSOYESEN. 


NORSELAND TALES. Illustrated. 121110, $1.25. 

BOYHOOD IN NORWAY : Nine Stories of Deeds of the Sons 
of the Vikings. With 8 illustrations. i2mo, $1.25 

AGAINST HEAVY ODDS, and a Fearless Trio. With 13 full- 
page illustrations by W. L. Taylor. i2mo, O1.25. 

THE MODERN VIKINGS : Stories of Life and Sport in the 
Norseland. With many full-page illustrations. i2mo, $1.25. 

The four above volumes in a box, $5.00. 

“ Charmingly told stories of boy -life in the Land of the Midnight Sun, illustrated 
with pictures giving a capital idea of the incidents and scenes described. The tales 
have a delight all their own, as they tell of scenes and sports and circumstances so 
different from those of our American life.” — N. Y. Observer. 




Two Books by Rossiter Johnson. 


THE END OF A RAINBOW. An American Story. Illustrated. i2mo, 
$1.50. 

“ It will be read with breathless interest. It is interesting and full of boyish experiences.”— 
N. Y. Independent. 

PHAETON ROGERS. A Novel of Boy Life. Illustrated. l2mo, $1.50. 

‘ * Mr. Johnson has shown in this book capabilities of a really high quality, for his story 
abounds with humor, and there are endless bits of quiet fun in it, which bring out the 
hearty laugh, even when it is read by older people. It is a capital book for boys.” — New 
York Times. 


Mrs. Burton Harrison’s Tales. 

BRIC-A-BRAC STORIES. 


With 24 illustrations by Walter Crane. i2mo, $1.50. 

“When the little boy, for whose benefit the various articles of bric-a-brac in his 
father’s drawing-room relate stories appropriate to their several native countries, 
exclaims at the conclusion of one of them : ‘ I almost think there can’t be a better 
one than that 1 ’ the reader, of whatever age, will probably feel inclined to agree 
with him. Upon the whole, it is to be wished that every boy and girl might become 
acquainted with the contents of this book.”— Julian Hawthorne. 

the old fashioned fairy book. 

Illustrated by Rosina Emmet. i6mo, $1.25. 

“ The little ones, who so willingly go back with us to ‘Jack the Giant Killer,' 
* Bluebeard,' and the kindred stories of our childhood, will gladly welcome Mrs. 
Burton Harrison’s ‘Old-Fashioned Fairy Tales.’ The graceful pencil of Miss Ro- 
sina Emmet has given a pictorial interest to the book.” — Frank R. Stockton. 


FROM “BRIC-A-BRAC STORIES.” 

Reduced. 



Charles Scribner’s Sons’ Hooks for Young Readers. 


Czar and Sultan. 

The adventures of a British Lad in the Russo-Turkish War of 
1877-78. By Archibald Forbes. Illustrated. i2mo, $2.00. 

“ Very fascinating and graphic. Mr. Forbes is a forcible writer, and the present work has the 
vigor and intensity associated with his name. It is sure to be popular with youthful readers.” — Bos- 
ton Beacon. 

“A brilliant and exciting narrative, and the drawings add to its interest and value.” — N. Y. 
Observer. 



Books of Adventure by Robert Leighton. 

OLAF THE GLORIOUS. 

A Story of Olaf Triggvison, King of Norway, A. D. 
995-1000. Crown 8vo, with numerous full-page illustra- 
tions, $1.50. 

THE WRECK OF THE GOLDEN FLEECE. 

The Story of a North Sea Fisher Boy. Illustrated. 
Crown 8vo, $1.50. 

THE THIRSTY SWORD. 

A Story of the Norse Invasion of Scotland, 1262-65. 
With 8 illustrations and a map. Crown 8vo, $1.50. 

THE PILOTS OF POMONA. 

A Story of the Orkney Islands. With 8 illustrations 
and a map. Crown 8vo, $1.50. 

“Mr. Leighton as a writer for boys needs no praise, as his books 
place him in the front rank.” — N ew York Observer. 


Things Will Take a Turn. 

By Beatrice Harraden, author of “Ships that Pass in the Night." Illustrated. 

i2mo, $1,00. 

The charm of this tale is its delicate, wistful sympathy. It is the story of a sunny-hearted 
child, Rosebud, who assists her grandfather in his dusty, second-hand book- 
shop. One cannot help being fascinated by the sweet little heroine, she is 
so engaging, so natural ; and to love Rosebud is to. love all her friends and 
enter sympathetically into the good fortune she brought them. 

Among the Lawmakers. 

By Edmund Alton. Illustrated. Sq. 8vo, $1,50. 

“ The book is a diverting as well as an instructive one. Mr. Alton was in his early days a 
page in the Senate, and he relates the doings of Congress from the point of view he then obtained. 

His narrative is easy and piquant, and abounds in personal anecdotes about the great men whom 
the pages waited on.” — Christian Union. 




Charles Scribner’s Sons’ ‘Books for Young Readers. 


Two Books by Henry M. Stanley. 

MY DARK COMPANIONS 

And Their Strange Stories. With 64 illustrations. 8vo, $2.00 

“ The following legends,” says Mr. Stanley in his introduction, “ are the choicest and most 
curious of those that were related to me during seventeen years, and which have not been hith- 
erto published in any of my books of travel.” There are in all nineteen stories, new and striking 
in motive and quaint in language. 

MY KALULU. 

Prince, King, and Slave. A Story of Central Africa. By 
Henry M. Stanley. One volume, i2mo, new edition, 
with many illustrations, $1.50. 

“ A fresh, breezy, stirring story for youths, interesting in itself and full of information regarding life in the interior of the 
continent in which its scenes are laid.” — New York Times. 

“ If the young reader is fond of strange adventures, he will find enough in this volume to delight him all winter, and he wiH 
be hard to please who is not charmed by its graphic pages.” — Boston Journal. 



HENRY M. STANLEY. 


Jules Verne’s Greatest Work. 

“THE EXPLORATION OF THE WORLD.” 

“M. Verne’s scheme in this work is to tell fully how man Vas made 
acquaintance with the world in which he lives, to combine into a singl* work in 
three volumes the wonderful stories of all the great explorers, navigatt irs, and 
travelers who have sought out, one after another, the once uttermost parts of 
the earth.” — The New York Evening Post. 

The three volumes in a set, $7. 50; singly, $2.50. 

FAMOUS TRAVELS AND TRAVELLERS. 

With <*$r 100 full-page illustrations, maps, etc., 8vo, $2.50. 

THE GREAT NAVIGATORS OF THE XVIIITH 
CENTURY. 

With 96 full-page illustrations and 19 maps, 8vo, $2.50. 

THE GREAT EXPLORERS OF THE XIXTH 
CENTURY. 

With over 100 full-page illustrations, fac-similes, etc., 8vo, $2.50. 

Jules Verne’s Stories. Uniform Illustrated Edition. 

Nine volumes, 8vo, extra cloth, with over 750 full-page illustrations. Price, per set, in a box, 

$17.50. Sold also in separate volumes. 

Michael Strogoff ; or, The Courier of the Czar, $2.00. A Floating City and the Blockade 
Runners, $2.00. Hector Servadac, $2.00. A Journey to the Centre of the Earth, $2.00. From 
the Earth to the Moon Direct in Ninety-seven Hours, Twenty Minutes; and a Journey Around it, 
$2.00. Dick Sands, $2.00. The Steam House, $2.00. The Giant Raft, $2.00. The Mysterious 
Island, $2.50. 












